


Things That Go Bump in the Night

by Harmonyhhr



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Alternate Universe - Human, Aziraphale is a Mess (Good Omens), Crowley Was Raphael Before Falling (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Ghost Hunting, Guilt and Angst, Haunted bookshop, M/M, Madame Tracy really is a medium, Newt is a screw-up in every universe, The fastest slowest slow burn, but with a human AU twist, elements of non-con but it's dealt with very quickly, ghost hunting television shows, horror-lite, let’s pretend authors make more money than they really do, we do not mention ghost adventures in this house
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 33,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24171238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harmonyhhr/pseuds/Harmonyhhr
Summary: Anthony J. Crowley, famous but retired TV ghost hunter, wants no part of the supernatural world now that his co-host is gone. He played too fast and loose with the rules and three years ago Raphael paid the ultimate price.But when his friend Tracy comes to him for help, pleading on behalf of her friend Aziraphale and his haunted bookshop, Crowley finds it impossible to say no. Aside from his respect for Tracy’s abilities and opinion, Crowley can’t seem to keep himself away from investigating paranormal incidents. Helping this Aziraphale should be quick and easy, or so he thinks.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 125
Kudos: 158





	1. It isn't an Ineffable Husbands fic if Crowley doesn't watch Aziraphale eat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! This little plot thread hit me an embarrassingly long time ago but I haven't had much motivation to write. It is fully outlined now and my dear friend Bearfeat gave me the inspiration I needed to get started. She also gave me a kick in the pants to make this first chapter better than what I originally started with. 
> 
> Many moons ago I was very obsessed with the show Ghost Hunters (being from a famously haunted town and living in a haunted house will do that to you) and ever since I've been collecting books on haunted places and true ghost stories. The only downside is ghost and demon stories scare the hell out of me! 
> 
> This story will probably lighter on the horror to most of you but I hope you still enjoy it.

Crowley sauntered through the door of the quaint little Italian restaurant only five minutes late. If this weren’t so important to Tracy he would have been his usual twenty minutes late, more than a little hungover and grumpy as fuck. 

_“...he really is a lovely person and I feel terrible for the poor lamb. Say you’ll help him, won’t you Crowley?” Tracy stared at him with a hopeful expression and he realized she genuinely expected a reply._

_“Trace, you know I don’t do that anymore. Not since...everything...” Crowley's voice grew faint, unwilling to speak the words out loud._

_She gave him a sympathetic glance. “I know, love. I’d never ask you if I wasn’t certain this is real, and I’m afraid for Zira’s safety.”_

No, Tracy had asked him out of genuine concern to meet her dear friend ‘Zira’ and take stock of his situation. For her Crowley would be as professional as he could manage. 

Well, he might still be grumpy as fuck but that couldn’t be helped. 

Extracting his phone from his extremely tight trouser pockets, he brought up the last text he'd received from her. 

**T: Find the man who looks like an angel. He’ll be reading a book.**

Christ Almighty, he wasn’t sure if this felt more like a clandestine meeting out of a spy novel or a blind date. Crowley had half a mind to ask if the book would have a flower in it.

Scanning the half-empty dining room, his eye landed on a man with a halo of white-blonde curls and a thick paperback in his hands. Be damned if he didn’t look like an angel. No sense in dragging this out any longer, Crowley supposed, and made his way over to begin their meeting. 

As he got closer, he realized the person sitting at the table somehow was and was not exactly what he expected when Tracy described him (bookshop owner, bit of a fusspot). The gold-rimmed spectacles and sensible tan trousers weren’t a surprise. The blue button-up and tan overcoat were normal enough as well. The stuffy old-fashioned waistcoat and tartan bowtie were decidedly not normal but could be considered charming. 

No, the individual pieces were exactly as Crowley pictured, each something the seller of antiquarian and unusual books might choose to wear on a daily basis. 

It was his _energy_ combined with each of these pieces that had Crowley now standing frozen next to his empty chair. The air around this stranger was nearly vibrating, coalescing into something tangible Crowley could almost see if he squinted very hard. Energy was Crowley’s business, his life’s blood because spirits were nothing but energy. It was his job to track it, study it, poke at it until it made sense. He didn’t think this stranger would appreciate Crowley poking at him. 

“Are you going to stand for the entirety of this lunch, or would you care to sit down and continue your staring?" The man was looking at him over the rims of those petite frames, mouth half curled into a mocking smile. 

Thoroughly embarrassed at being caught out like that, Crowley cleared his throat and plopped down in his chair with as much nonchalance as he could muster. “Bah, it’s just I didn’t realize people still read paper books anymore.” He fought back a wince at that whopper of a lie; he of all people knew first hand how well books sold these days. 

Aziraphale gazed at him steadily just long enough to make Crowley want to squirm, then let out an amused chuckled. “You must be the famed Mr. Crowley. Only someone who fancies themself a ghost hunter would believe such nonsense about books.” He held his hand out over the table. 

Crowley wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean precisely, but he recognized it as a veiled insult to his profession. His answering smile was all teeth as he met the offered hand with his own. “ And you must be the, ah-” Crowley stumbled over his words as the energy he felt before practically scorched the skin where their palms touched and raced up his arm like an electric shock. He let himself pause to recover but didn’t let go. “-the much-beloved Zira.” Another clearing of the throat. “If you think so little of my career I’m surprised you agreed to come today.”

Crowley was grateful he forgot to take his sunglasses off as he glanced up to find that half-mocking smile still aimed his direction, cerulean eyes flickering between their hands and Crowley’s face. It made him terribly aware that they’d been touching far longer than necessary for a standard handshake. He drew his hand back, flexing it to work out the lingering tension, and tried to focus. 

“It’s Aziraphale, if you please. And yes, well, I almost didn’t,” Aziraphale replied. His smile slipped away, leaving an uncertain frown in its place. “This isn’t...I don’t usually...what I mean to say is-” Floundering, he clenched his hands into fists on top of the table.

“What you mean is this isn’t part of your everyday life?” Crowley asked gently. “That ghosts aren’t real so your shop isn’t haunted, but how else can you explain what you’ve seen? Felt?” 

Aziraphale nodded. 

Crowley nodded in kind but was interrupted by their waiter before he could continue. His order was short and to the point: baked scallops with breadcrumbs, lemon, and parmesan paired with a glass of Marsanne. Aziraphale dithered on for a good five minutes over the menu, waving off the waiter’s assertion that he could give them a few more moments. One order of squid and blood orange slices, crostino with chicken liver pate, cured ham, and mushrooms, and gnocchi alla sorrentina[1] later and Crowley figured it was safe to get back on track.

“So, what’s it like to run a bookshop?” Crowley was used to having clients very much like Aziraphale. If he wanted to get any coherent answers from him, he’d need to start with basic interview questions. 

It did the trick, if Aziraphale’s delighted wiggle was anything to go by. “It’s simply wonderful. Every day I have a vast library at my fingertips, enough books to fill up a lifetime.”

“I guess it would seem that way, huh?” Crowley mused. “I mean, if your inventory is always changing.”

“Oh goodness no, my inventory rarely changes unless I add to it.” 

Crowley cocked a brow at that. “Surely you sell enough to, er, make a profit?” 

To his surprise, Aziraphale did something Crowley had never seen another person manage to pull off: he chortled[2]. “A profit? I wouldn't know the meaning of the word. It’s my greatest accomplishment!” His amusement died down slightly. “No, I do sell some popular fiction but it’s just there to distract people away from my first editions and such. Have you read anything by Jeffrey Archer? I’m not sure what paper they use for printing but it smells positively evil…” 

Crowley momentarily tuned Aziraphale out while he vented about everything included on the New York Times bestseller list. Maybe this was the game? Bookseller in financial turmoil cooks up ghost stories to what, drum up business? Torch the place for insurance money and blame a documented specter? It wouldn't be the first time Crowley ran into fraud on the job. 

Aziraphale’s squid and crostino came out to the table, momentarily halting his tirade against James Patterson[3]. He thanked the waiter with a level of enthusiasm usually reserved for much more expensive places and scrutinized his order with hawk-like focus. 

“You’ll try some of course? The food here is divine.” He gestured to the two small plates situated in front of him, and Crowley shrugged half-heartedly.

“It’d be wasted on me, ‘m afraid. Not much of a foodie.” In no universe did squid ever sound appetizing. He waited for the inevitable chastisement that came from refusing food. Had he ever tried it? How does he know he wouldn’t like it? He’s far too skinny to refuse, put some meat on those bones! Doesn’t he know men are supposed to be heavy?

Aziraphale said no such things. He merely gave one of his excited wiggles and said, “More for me then. Speak up if you change your mind, dear boy.” 

The pair lapsed into silence and where Crowley might consider it awkward any other time, it didn’t feel that way now. The pleasure on Aziraphale’s face while he enjoyed his food was almost endearing. Crowley was oddly content with watching each bite disappear, until both plates were clean and Aziraphale sat back to sip at his wine. 

In a desperate attempt to remove himself from these confusing feelings, Crowley blurted out the first thought he could string together, “How d’you live if you don’t sell any books?” 

Aziraphale’s ‘food glow’ dimmed a bit as he shifted almost uncomfortably. “Independently wealthy. Old family money, you see.” 

Crowley wasn’t sure what to make of that. “Why run a bookshop then?”

“That story is for another time.” He looked distractedly over Crowley’s shoulder. “Ah, here comes the next course!” 

As they ate their meals, the subject of spirits and haunted bookshops didn’t come back up. Either Aziraphale was deeper in denial than Crowley first thought, or he didn’t see a reason to rush the issue. It wasn’t until they were finished eating that Aziraphale looked up and said, “I suppose...well I suppose you’ll want to be getting on with it then.” 

Ah. Denial it was. Crowley was about to agree this was as good a time as any when yet another distraction blew through the entrance of the restaurant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 I just googled Soho Italian restaurants and mashed the menus together so don’t ask me about this food, because I know nothing. [return to text]
> 
> 2 Have you ever seen a real live person chortle? I haven’t. If anyone could I believe it would be Aziraphale. [return to text]
> 
> 3 An unimaginative thief and imposter to boot. [return to text]


	2. It isn't an Ineffable Husbands fic if someone doesn't give Aziraphale a nickname

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any mistakes are my own. I decided to post these two chapters together since they're relatively short and connected. 
> 
> Any and all comments and kudos are loved and appreciated. I'm not an author who minds if you don't leave comments. I get intimidated online very easily so I understand the intense pressure and anxiety this can cause. I will respond as much as possible, until my own anxiety gets the better of me!

“Coo-ee! Crowley! Zira!” Lest Crowley’s ears deceived him, it sounded as though Tracy had just “stumbled” upon their lunch. Sure enough her usual scent of tea rose, lily, violet, and geranium[4] engulfed his nose a few moments later, and then she was pressing a quick kiss to his cheek from behind.

“I’m so glad the two of you were able to get together,” She cooed as she rounded the table to Aziraphale, who stood to receive her double cheek kisses, making Crowley feel like an uncultured cad. 

Aziraphale gave her a warm grin as he pulled out her chair. “Marjorie, I didn’t know you’d be joining us. We would have been happy to wait for you.” 

As a waiter passed through the dining room two tables away, Tracy threw the end of her absurdly pink scarf up in the air to attract his attention and called out, “Yoohoo! Bring me a Hanky Panky, there’s a love!” She shrugged off her coat. “No, no need for all that. I was just in the area and thought I’d check in.” 

Crowley made a disbelieving noise in the back of his throat. “Why do I doubt that?”

“Always so suspicious, Crowley dear.” Tracy refused to make eye contact.

“Marjorie…” Aziraphale’s tone was chiding. 

Tracy conceded, “Fine, fine. I wanted to make sure you both showed up.” 

“Marjorie, eh?” Crowley remarked. “You two must go way back then.”

Tracy nodded with such vigor the fiery orange wig perched atop her head bounced with the movement. “Oh yes, his mother and I were childhood friends. We lost touch during my wilder years,” she aimed a wink at Aziraphale, “but she called me up one day after seeing me help the police on a missing persons case. What were you Zira, twelve?” Her hand slammed down on the table with a resounding thump, drowning out Aziraphale’s reply.

“She calls me up and says, ‘Marjorie Potts, if you’re such a psychic then you just guess who this is’ and I says right back, ‘Dearest Anna, how nice of you to call’. She couldn’t believe it!” Tracy paused thoughtfully. “Never did tell her I had caller ID.” She cackled loud enough to earn a few stares from nearby patrons but she paid them no mind.

Crowley loved her for it. She’d been recommended to him seventeen years earlier to help remove a particularly stubborn entity from his client’s home. At first he was skeptical; advertised mediums were usually shady and unreliable charlatans[5], but Tracy was so professional (and more importantly, actually _able_ to speak to the dead) he couldn’t help but be impressed. 

After their case wrapped up the pair had gone out for a celebratory drink where she casually revealed she’d been a sex worker up until a few years prior, then quit the business to marry a man who hunted witches. Even at the young age of 25 Crowley was rarely gobsmacked by people, but most people weren’t the great Madame Tracy.

“Did Zira tell you about his little problem?” Tracy asked. Her drink had arrived while he walked down memory lane and she sipped from it happily. 

Crowley shook his head. “We were about to get to that.”

She made a little shooing motion. “Well go on then, Zira. Tell the man.” Aziraphale opened his mouth but before any sound could come out, Tracy kept right on talking. “It’s _quite_ the problem, you know. Imagine, a spirit who doesn’t want to talk to _me_! And it wasn’t for lack of trying on my part. Whatever is in that bookshop is a proper menace.” 

Crowley looked to Aziraphale. “How’s it causing trouble?” 

Tracy intervened once more. “Oh, well it’s probably not the kind of trouble you’re used to, Crowley. I’ve been visiting Zira for years and nothing has ever smacked of the supernatural in his shop, but now there’s a presence and it doesn’t...it doesn’t feel _nice_. It’s always watching. Raises the hair on the back of my neck, it does, like I’m not welcome and need to leave.” 

From what Crowley had seen of Aziraphale so far he would have bet money he didn’t appreciate someone else trying to tell his story, so when he leaned toward Tracy Crowley thought he was going to cut her off with a harsh word. 

“Don’t forget about the video.” Aziraphale settled back in his chair, seemingly comfortable letting Tracy run the conversation. 

Huh.

Tracy clapped her hands together. “Yes! The video! Oh Crowley, wait until you see this. Where’s your phone Zira?” 

“I’m afraid I left it at home. I wasn’t sure...I’m still not entirely...” He trailed off.

Crowley finished his sentence, “You aren’t sure you’re sold on this. On me.” 

“Of course he is, right Zira?” Tracy tutted. “Of course you are, don’t be daft. That footage convinced you, don’t you sit here and lie.” Ever since stepping into the role of ‘Madame Medium’ full-time, Tracy often gave in to her flair for dramatics. “It is the spookiest thing to see, this great big hulking shadow lumbering about in the windows, just like on your show! It’s the only way I’m positive Aziraphale is being haunted, but don’t tell anyone or my reputation will be ruined.”

Her voice fell to a whisper, “Could this be _demonic activity_?"

Crowley only just resisted rolling his eyes. “Trace, you and I both know demons burn hot and act fast. When did this start?” He was still aiming his questions at Aziraphale. 

“About two months ago,” Tracy replied.

“Right. Would a demon really hang about doing nothing for two months?” Demons were flashy bastards in Crowley’s opinion, impatient creatures bent on quick and dirty destruction. “They’d have, I dunno, burned the building down by now or something.” 

Tracy shrugged. “I’ve never met one.”

“And neither have I. They split as soon as they’re found out. Brushed up against one or two a few times but nothing I can prove, so I doubt this is anything more than a vicious spirit." Crowley paused. "If anything exists there at all.” That last thought was muttered quiet enough but he found Aziraphale watching him with his mouth pulled in a taut line. 

He glanced away quickly. “Uh, so is that it? Creepy feelings and this mysterious video?” 

“You do need to see it, dear, to get the full effect. You should go by the bookshop later! That would be alright, wouldn’t Zira?” This time Tracy let Aziraphale assent before continuing. “Good, that’s just what you’ll do. See, now wasn’t this productive?”

Aziraphale excused himself to the toilet and Tracy rounded on Crowley the second he was out of earshot. “Well? What do you think?” 

Crowley gave her a slightly incredulous look. “I think you wouldn’t let the man get a word in edgewise.”

Tracy scoffed, “Zira’s shy. He needs someone to look after him. The story’s the same no matter who tells it anyway.”

“Look, y’know I trust your judgment more than most, but I can’t make any decisions considering I don’t have a shred of evidence,” Crowley explained, throwing up a hand in mild exasperation. “Are you sure this isn’t just a way to set up your pathetic single friend?” 

Before Crowley could even finish his sentence Tracy burst into a fit of giggles. “You think I would -? You and Zira?” She laughed harder. “Oh goodness no, the two of you would be a right disaster!” She mimed wiping away tears of mirth from her eyes.

It caught him completely off guard when not a second later her face turned serious as she leaned in close to growl at him, “Now you listen to me. Aziraphale may not be as cool as slick Anthony ‘The J is just a J’ Crowley but he’s a darling person.” Her eyes softened slightly. “I know you’ve had a rough few years but Zira has suffered too. If you’re just going to act like a prat then you can take yourself home right now.” 

Aziraphale returned just then. “What did I miss?”

Tracy glared at Crowley until he relented. “Uh, yeah, so when did you want me to come by the shop?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4 Y’all. Someone made this perfume. I was looking for opinions on what Madame Tracy might smell like and found this [page](https://blackphoenixalchemylab.com/shop/neil-gaiman/good-omens/madame-tracy/). This fandom thinks of everything. [return to text]
> 
> 5 The Warrens. I said what I said. [return to text]


	3. It isn't an Ineffable Husbands fic if they don't drink Chateauneuf du Pape

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has given this little story a read! I'm hoping to start ramping up a bit of the action in the next few chapters. I am a complete chicken when it comes to horror, which is why I tagged this as horror-lite. In writing some of the spookier parts I scared myself half to death (it didn't help I was binging Haunted Hospitals).
> 
> I hope you enjoy this next chapter! It's far longer than I intended, oops.

**_C: Two questions_ **

**_C: Is Aziraphale into the occult?_ **

**_C: What about tech?_ **

_T: Good heavens no. To both_

_T: He hates horror, might have some books in the shop to sell though_

_T: Also a complete technophobe. Has this old junk computer in the shop for doing taxes but that’s it. I had to convince him to get a mobile._

_T: He’s not a scammer Crowley_

**_C: You know I had to ask_ **

_T: Am I going to have to come tonight and babysit you?_

**_C: Ha ha so funny_ **

_T: I’m serious_

**_C: No mum I promise to be good. Let you know if I think he needs help_ **

_T: You better. I’ve got a bad feeling._

**_C: Probably that Hanky Panky you had on an empty stomach_ **

**_C: Can’t handle alcohol at your age_ **

_T: One more word out of you and I release Karaoke Night 2014 on Instagram_

**_C: That night never happened_ **

_T: Your 1970s mustache was quite impressive_

_**C: Can’t talk now gotta go** _

Crowley shoved his phone as far as it would go in his pocket (what did clothing manufacturers have against giving ladies functional pockets[6]?) and slammed out of his flat. He and Aziraphale agreed his coming over after the shop closed that night would be ideal. It was mildly irritating the man left his phone at home on purpose, but Crowley only lived a few minutes away in Mayfair so at least the drive shouldn’t be too awful. 

**Shop Hours**

Monday: 7am-10am 

Tuesday: 12pm-4pm 

Wednesday: 9am-10am 

Thursday: 2pm-5pm 

Friday: 11am-11:45am 

Saturday: By Appointment Only 

Sunday: Closed 

**Hours subject to change on a daily basis**

Fifteen minutes later, through rush hour traffic and one hair-raising minute driving on the sidewalk, Crowley was staring disbelievingly at the sign on the bookshop door. There was even a secondary note next to it detailing why the shop hours were arranged just so, and even specified opening policy on rainy and snowy days. He’d actually passed by this place the few times he chose to venture to Soho but he never had an urge to stop in. Judging by the randomness of the hours, Aziraphale didn’t _want_ anyone wandering in. Crowley had a sneaking suspicion that the meanest occupant in this building wasn't the rumored spirit. 

It was a nice enough place, sturdy brick with a fancy wood frame surrounding the double doors and the two oversized windows bracketing them. Said windows were a bit dusty and the stacks of books pressed against them from the inside made it difficult for Crowley to peer in as he walked the side of the building, but it didn’t detract from the respectability the shop exuded. The entire setup felt old to be sure, but he highly doubted it was 1800s old as the sign suggested. 

“Are you going to continue lurking around my shop or are you going to come inside?” Aziraphale stood just outside the door, his gaze questioning. Once again he was being called out for acting like a freak, but once again he found himself struck dumb over Aziraphale’s presence. Anathema would have an absolute field day with his aura. Crowley didn’t have much patience for the new-agey aspect of his chosen profession, but even he could tell Aziraphale would be glowing if viewed from another plane of existence. It didn’t help that he was also extremely attractive.

“Just having a look-see,” Crowley scowled, more at his own wayward thoughts rather than Aziraphale’s grumbling. 

“If the monster came out during the day and traipsed about on this sidewalk where other people could see it I doubt I’d need you here, dear fellow.” Aziraphale gestured at the open door in such a grand manner Crowley could practically taste the sarcasm behind it. “After you.” 

Crowley entered and found he was terribly wrong thinking the bookshop wasn’t as old as advertised. The space was so jam-packed with old books there was no way they hadn’t been sitting in those precise spots since 1800. Each tower of books made every room feel a bit overwhelming and claustrophobic; he wagered if any of them were moved the entire lot would come tumbling down like those life-size Jenga blocks. Despite the adequate lighting, Crowley found himself reluctantly shoving his sunglasses up to perch on his head. 

“This is quite a library you’ve got here, Zira.” Crowley clicked his tongue in distaste. He really shouldn’t try to use a nickname for someone he didn’t know well. The easy comfort of their lunch was missing now, the interior of the shop leaving him feeling off-kilter and tempted to overcompensate. 

The door shut with a resounding snap behind them. “Ah, yes, let’s get something out of the way before we begin,” Aziraphale said as he walked past Crowley to stand just inside the foyer. “My name does not lend itself to being shortened. I’m not certain why people deem it necessary to hack names up but for the love of God Herself, call me Aziraphale.[7]”

There was the fighting spirit Crowley had expected to show up earlier. “But Tracy-”

A slash of a hand cut him off. “Tracy is...Tracy. She knows I hate it but is either oblivious, stubborn, or loves to annoy me. I suspect it’s a bit of all three. I retaliate by calling her Marjorie as much as possible.”

“Gotcha,” Crowley said, feeling a bit sheepish. “Eh, how did you get such a, um, long name anyway?” Satan save him from small talk. 

“I was named after an angel.” Aziraphale didn’t appear to notice his discomfort. “Of course my parents couldn’t pick a normal angelic name like Gabriel or Michael, no, my cousins were the fortunate recipients of those monikers. I was left with Eden’s guardian. My sister Uriel was less than pleased growing up as well.” 

“Aziraphale and Uriel Fell. They didn’t think that through, did they?” 

Aziraphale gave a humorless laugh. "It fits, really. To them I'd be something of a fallen angel at this point. _Fell_ from heaven and all that." His eyes went distant for a minute. "Tracy calls you Crowley; is that your preference or are you locked in a battle of wills with her as well?" 

It was Crowley's turn to laugh. "Nothing that dramatic. Got in so much trouble in school that 'Mr. Crowley' eventually just became Crowley. It stuck." 

He didn't say if anyone ever tried to call him Tony he'd sock them in the mouth. 

"Well, Crowley, would you care to sit? We haven't discussed the matter of payment yet and I’d prefer to have that out in the open, if we could." Aziraphale gestured behind the counter where the cash register sat, toward an ornate yet ugly sofa nestled against an overflowing wall of books. 

Crowley reached out to place his hand on Aziraphale's arm. "Hey, no." If he didn't learn to keep his distance he could easily get addicted to the sharp electricity he felt every time he entered Aziraphale’s personal space. "Payment isn't necessary. This is a favor to Tracy for one, and two, I never charge for this type of thing." 

"Really?" Aziraphale had yet to move away and for the second time in one day Crowley realized he was being too touchy with a stranger. Smooth. 

He forced out a breath and stepped away to sit down, with Aziraphale taking up residence in a rather uncomfortable-looking chair across from him. 

"Well, yeah. The network always paid people to let us film them."

Aziraphale's eyes widened. "Show? You were on television?" 

Crowley nodded. "Yup. Ten seasons, ten years. Lucky I got the gig when I did ‘cause 29 year old me did not fancy having 3 jobs just to support investigating _and_ eating." 

Aziraphale stood abruptly and walked over to pull open a drawer in a desk shoved beneath the window. "What is the show called?" He asked over his shoulder. 

"Uh, _HauntedHunt_[8] . Wha-" 

Aziraphale came back to his chair with a shiny black tablet in his hand. He made a complicated motion with his fingers, presumably to unlock it, then tapped a few buttons. "Oh yes, I see it here! I'll mark this for later. I really only watch _Bake Off_ but this could be fun." 

Crowley felt his eyebrows shoot skyward but he couldn't help it. So much for Aziraphale’s supposed technophobic tendencies. “You might enjoy it more on a bigger screen. Makes it easier to see the action.” Might as well test the waters.

“I don’t have a television but I did spend an extraordinary amount of money on the laptop I keep in the office. That’ll do, I think. Now, Tracy mentioned you’re an author as well but I don’t think I’ve read you.”

“Probably not, if ghost hunting isn’t a normal interest.” 

Aziraphale motioned to his tablet, one eyebrow delicately arched. 

“Um, well the first I wrote is the Ghost Hunters Guidebook[9] but it’s more technical, you might not like that one. Then there’s The Dead Roam the Earth,[10], The Dead Travel Fast,[11], and Haunted Castles of Britain and Ireland.[12]. You don’t - it’s not required to read any of those.”

But Aziraphale was busy typing away as Crowley listed his works. “I am aware of that but I do enjoy research. Much of my days are spent with my nose in a book; I might as well learn a bit about what you do.” 

“How kind.” Crowley snarked, but Aziraphale paid little attention to him. “Look, all I really need from you is this footage and then I can decide if I’m actually needed.” 

Crowley didn’t want to be completely unkind. He sort of enjoyed the fact that every time they spoke Aziraphale said and did the unexpected. But this little... _arrangement_ was temporary. He was supposed to be retired and leaving his trauma to fester like a normal person, not dredging it all back up to possibly work past it. No thank you.

“I do apologize if I’ve been stalling. This isn’t a very comforting subject for me. Everything is all set up on my mobile, but I’m going to require alcohol to get through this.” Aziraphale got up and headed to an open doorway at the back of the room, waving to indicate Crowley should follow. “Come along then, anyone de-haunting my shop gets the Chateauneuf-du-Pape.”

“Er, I find it’s good practice not to drink on the job.” He sauntered along behind. “Booze isn’t great when you’re navigating an abandoned building that’s two seconds away from collapsing.” 

“Does my shop look like an abandoned building to you?” 

Once again Crowley’s mouth seemed to operate on auto-pilot. “Nope, there’s too much junk in it.” 

“Then I think you needn’t worry about injury. If you wish to partake I’m certainly not going to judge you – I'm offering after all.” 

“You know what, I think I’m going to need it.”

“Perfect.” Aziraphale turned to a little speaker sitting on a side table as they entered the back room. “Alexa, please play Glenn Miller.[13]” 

* * *

“So what was the deal at lunch?” Crowley’s head was pleasantly fuzzy after a few glasses of wine and he was rapidly forgetting about his promise to Tracy about behaving himself. 

Aziraphale kicked his legs out in front of him as he sunk a little deeper in his chair, clearly feeling the alcohol as much as Crowley. “You’ll have to be more specific.” 

“You just let Tracy take over. She says you're shy. Don’t really strike me as the type.” 

Aziraphale made a noise suspiciously close to a hiccup. “Noticed that did you? Mmm, well you’ve caught me I suppose.” He ducked his head. “Done on purpose.”

“ _What?_ ”

Aziraphale wriggled back into an upright sitting position, then clasped his hands to his chest, eyes staring up over Crowley’s head and a mocking kiss-ass expression on his face. “’Oh Mr. Fell, do you think you could host the party in the bookshop? You have so much space and I know you’ll be closed anyway.’” He glowered at the imaginary person and sank down to slouch again. “If people believe you’re helpless they often don’t want to use your home as their discotheque.” 

Crowley was back to staring. “No one, and I mean no one, uses the word ‘discotheque’ anymore.” 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Now I understand how you’re such an expert in the paranormal field – you clearly focus on all the most important details.” 

“And now I understand how you’re being haunted – you clearly deserve it,” Crowley quipped back. 

Aziraphale glared. Crowley grinned. “So you wanna tell me about this recording you got or keep stalling? Could do with a bit more wine if you’re not ready yet. 's good stuff.” 

Aziraphale pushed to his feet faster than Crowley would have thought possible and disappeared through the doorway, only to come back with two bottles of wine moments later. 

* * *

“Kraken,” Aziraphale said with the slightest hint of a slur. “Great big bugger...” 

“Yup.” Crowley burped. “Why... why are we talking ‘bout the Kraken?” 

“Monsters,” Aziraphale said it as though it should be obvious. 

“Monsters. Right. Okay. Monsters?” 

“Monsters an’ ghosts. Go to-toget-” Aziraphale gave up on the word, opting to smash his fingers against one another as though that was much more clear. 

Crowley was certain that wasn’t the correct way to say ‘together’ in sign language, but he got the message. “Naaaaaaah. ‘s dumb idea, angel. Monsters ‘re scary. Ghosts ‘re cool.” 

Aziraphale shook his head frantically. “No. Nononononono. What I saw, what is in th-that video. It’s scary. Creepy. Spooooooky.” His arms floated in the air, a poor imitation of a Halloween thrift store ghost. A puzzled frown tugged at his mouth. “Angel?”

Crowley was too drunk to care that he’d accidentally given this almost-stranger a nickname usually reserved for couples. “Your name, ‘s too long. Named for an angel, look like an angel. Angel.” 

Aziraphale seemed to contemplate Crowley’s reasoning briefly, before replying, “‘m too drunk to object. Carry on.” 

What were they talking about? Oh yeah. “I like spooky. Big spooky fan, me.” Crowley grunted. 

“Well b-bully for you,” Aziraphale said, pouting. “You chose the right career.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and started smacking at the screen with this finger. “I- I did not, _did not I say_ , did not sign up for this.” 

He poked around on the device long enough that Crowley felt himself dozing off. Too much alcohol. He was going to pay dearly for this tomorrow morning. Maybe he’d die before then and not have to worry about it. 

“Right. Right. Here. Watch.” Aziraphale plopped the phone down on the sofa next to Crowley’s sprawling form, then tottered unsteadily toward the backroom once more, muttering “coffee” as he went. 

Instead of picking the device up like a normal human being, Crowley flopped around until he was hunched over where the phone lay. The room spun a little with his sudden movement and he had to give his eyes a moment to focus. Once he only saw one screen (instead of two or three), he copied Aziraphale’s earlier smacking gesture and knocked his fingers against the phone until it began playing. 

There was no sound and it was in black and white, but the quality of the recording was far nicer than most security cameras. Crowley could tell the owner was trying to cover all his bases but the angle on this camera wasn’t terribly useful – it was too wide, catching most of the street and nearly all of Aziraphale’s shop in the left side of the frame. Might do well to catch the getaway car if someone came in to rob the place but zooming in would pixelate the image, rendering it useless. A timestamp in the lower right corner marked the time as just after 11pm. 

His attention was caught then by what must be giving Aziraphale trouble sleeping, and Crowley didn’t blame him. The shadow in the bookshop window was massive, filling up most of the glass but somehow retaining a humanoid shape. The shadow flowed smoothly through the bookshop space, from the left-hand window, to the windows of the front doors, then on the right-hand side window, and it did it preternaturally fast despite having a disjointed gait. 

Crowley truly did love spooky things but hated with a white-hot passion anything that moved like a puppet on a string. Jerky movements were just unsettling; nothing natural moved like that and it made his fight or flight response tick firmly to flight. 

“Blegh,” He said ineloquently at the screen. 

The footage then sped up, edited to show the time-lapse. Hours passed as the entity flitted back and forth across the shop floor. It made the hair on the back of Crowley’s neck rise, but he told himself it wasn’t so unusual for a spirit to get stuck in a pattern.

Something niggled at the back of Crowley’s sloshed brain. He glanced up to confirm Aziraphale’s desk sat directly in front of one window. He knew more shelves and a chair sat in front of the other window, and the foyer housing the front doors was walled in and overly crowded with books and furniture. He would have to try to replicate the shadow’s movements to rule out human intervention but he already doubted any person could walk through walls to move so quickly. 

At a quarter past three in the morning the shape disappeared. Crowley squinted hard and found it had moved to a window above the shop area, presumably part of Aziraphale’s flat. This time it was much smaller, definitely a person this time. Then it waved, as though it knew the camera was recording it. 

Crowley lunged away from the sofa and landed hard on the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 6 If you think those trousers aren't from the ladies department you were not a teenager during the great emo wave of 2007 [return to text]
> 
> 7 I just really hate that nickname. Also, as someone who has a name that can be shortened several ways, I may also be projecting. [return to text]
> 
> 8 I am aware there is a show of the same name on Amazon. I found it after I settled on the name. Somebody watch it and tell me if it's bad. [return to text]
> 
> 9 A real book by Troy Taylor, paranormal author superstar. Took me ages to find it in a store rather than buying it online. My copy is probably woefully outdated with all the new technology that exists now. [return to text]
> 
> 10 Another real book, by Alasdair Wickham. Not a bad book. I've only read it in bits and pieces. [return to text]
> 
> 11 One of my favorite books by Eric Nuzum. It's about vampires rather than ghosts but it's still a great title and a great read. [return to text]
> 
> 12 Book by Richard Jones. I just found this one at random, but it makes sense considering where Crowley lives. [return to text]
> 
> 13 Aziraphale is only about 45 but he would totally listen to Glen Miller. It's verges on "too modern" for him but he'll let it slide. I just really liked the idea of him having all these device hidden around his shop. He doesn't hate technology, he just hates being expected to use it 24/7 [return to text]


	4. It's not an Ineffable Husbands fic without someone named Oscar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to everyone stopping by for a read! This is the last full chapter I had written out but I've got blurbs and bits for the next few chapters written out. Basically, I know where I need this thing to go. I usually try to for weekly updates - I hope I can keep that up! I don't have any footnotes for this chapter, mostly because they're a pain in the ass but also because they aren't really necessary this time. 
> 
> Again, I didn't know betas were a thing so I don't have one and any mistakes are my own. Woohoo!

“Ah, I see you reached the part where my new friend gave us a lovely wave.” Aziraphale came back into the room carrying two large mugs, looking less soused than when he left.

“I can’t cope with this when ’m drunk.” Crowley rested his head in his hands. Apparently he wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t feel embarrassment coursing through his veins for being such a  _ wuss _ . “How’re you okay?” 

“Drink the coffee. I’ve had two already.” Aziraphale set both mugs down in front of him and settled back in his chair. “I do wish I’d brought this up  _ before _ it got dark out.” 

Both of the mugs on the table had angel wings for handles. “You’re the one’at suggested the wine.” Crowley snuffled at the cup of liquid in his hand. It was hot and the smell alone was reviving some of his mushy brain cells. 

“How was I supposed to know we’re both very chatty old men, hmmm?” 

Crowley gaped at him in indignation. “’m not old.” 

“My dear, you can hide behind fetchingly tight trousers all you want but you can’t deny time.” Aziraphale gave him a sardonic smile. “Now go on, drink up. No, don’t sip it -” he held out a hand as though to stop Crowley physically as he started to slurp the coffee into his mouth. “My American cousin introduced me to this fine concoction at university; excellent for hangovers and sobering up, but you should try to taste it as little as possible.” 

Crowley eyed the cup suspiciously. “How do I know you’re not some Soho serial killer? Tryin’ to poison me?” 

Aziraphale leaned forward in his seat. “It would be rather stupid of me to kill you when dear Tracy knows you’re here. I suppose I could drug you and lock you in the cellar,  _ then _ kill you, but the trail would still lead back to me. No, it wouldn’t do to ‘do you in’ now.” 

“Gonna have to introduce you to Anathema one day,” Crowley said before swallowing half of the first cup of what he would never in his wildest dreams call coffee. “Gck!” The urge to spit the imposter liquid out was unbearable but he choked it down. “Tha’s vile!” 

“I did instruct you on how to drink it properly.” Aziraphale sniffed delicately. 

Crowley leveled his best glare at Aziraphale’s smug face, then pinched his nose and chugged the rest of the swill. He quickly drained the second cup in the same manner, loathe to admit it wasn’t so bad once he followed the given instructions. 

“Now, d’you want to tell me where that video came from and what the bloody hell is going on ‘round here ‘fore we both die of alcohol poisoning?” Crowley scrubbed a hand over his face and willed himself sober enough to concentrate on the task at hand. 

Aziraphale had the good grace to blush slightly. “Oscar owns the electronics shop across the street. He sells quite a bit of high-end specialty equipment so he goes overboard on his surveillance cameras. He likes to pop over and discuss classic literature but last week he brought over the video instead, wanting to know if _I_ knew anything about the strange activity.” Aziraphale paused. “I think it goes unsaid that ‘strange’ is quite the understatement in this case. I’m starting to feel like we all might have overreacted though.” 

“Nah, you’ve a right to be freaked out. D'you get the same feeling of being watched or is that all Tracy dramatics?”

“No, I’ve felt something similar. Many have commented on the atmosphere, come to think about it; I have fewer customers than normal, and I don’t exactly invite them in in the first place. It just feels darker. Heavy. I realize how silly that sounds.” Aziraphale's cheeks flushed even more. 

Crowley waved away his words. “Coming from you it’s not silly. Don’t really strike me as the hysterical type.” 

A ghost of a smile pulled at Aziraphale’s mouth. “Do you always tell potential clients what kind of person they are?” 

Crowley gave him a cheeky grin in return. “Nope, this is all for you.” 

Aziraphale huffed but his smile became less fragile. “How lucky I am.” He exhaled. “So what do I do now?” 

“What do  _ we  _ do now, you mean.” Crowley rested his elbows on his knees; the hardwood floor beneath was causing his backside to go numb. “ _ We _ investigate. I’ve seen enough to have a reason to at least look into what might be going on. The good news is that if it _is_ a spirit it doesn’t seem to be...ornery.” 

Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow. “Or-ne-ry?” 

“S’a technical term.” 

“Hmmmmm.” 

“I think I can have everything sorted in a few days.” Crowley hoisted himself onto the sofa and scooped up Aziraphale's phone to set it down on the table, then stretched out on the cushions. “I’ll start investigating tonight.” 

A few quiet moments passed before Aziraphale cleared his throat. “How...exactly will you be investigating?” 

“By catching a few on this woefully uncomfortable sofa. Much better than the floor.” He cracked an eye open to see Aziraphale staring at him with doubt. “Seriously, I’ll stay here tonight and feel things out. Tomorrow night I’ll bring in the equipment.” 

"To echo your earlier question: how do I know you aren’t some great Soho cat burglar?” 

“Judging by the overcrowded state of this shop, I’d say you don’t sell anything. Therefore you have no money for me to steal. I’d be a terrible thief robbing a place with no money.” Nevermind the family fortune he’d mentioned at lunch that afternoon.

Instead of being offended, Aziraphale chuckled. “I suppose you’re right. I do keep the family jewels locked away in a vault in any case.” He stood. “There’s a blanket tucked under the pillow you’re lounging on. I’ll leave the door upstairs unlocked in case you need to go to the loo.” 

Crowley was half asleep before Aziraphale could finish his sentence, managing a small “G’night angel” before he dropped off completely. 

* * *

It couldn’t have been more than a few hours later when a rhythmic thumping gradually brought Crowley out of sleep. 

“’ziraphale, what’re you doing up?” Crowley asked, carefully rolling away from the back of the sofa where he’d had his face buried. The room was mostly dark except for a sliver of light shining through the window from a street lamp and a table lamp in another part of the shop, one Aziraphale must have left on for him in case he needed to get up. 

Shadows clung to the walls, giving Crowley that crowded feeling he had to push away earlier. Sleeping downstairs no longer seemed like such a great idea. 

Then he realized one of the shadows was moving across the wall and bouncing off the bookcases surrounding the sofa. He almost called out for Aziraphale again but the part of his brain that held his survival instincts told him to keep his mouth shut and watch. 

Listen. 

He couldn’t bring himself to sit up and look around; his body was frozen in this half-twisted position he carelessly flopped himself into before he became aware he wasn’t alone. Tension crawled up his spine into his shoulders, squeezed at the muscles in his throat, and set his teeth on edge. Part of his throat was exposed like this, the left side of his chest where his heart pounded also on display. He half expected the footsteps (Crowley recognized the sound now that he was awake) to stop once he called out but they steadily reverberated around the room, landing hard enough to shake some of the books in their piles. 

Crowley cursed himself for taking this job after being out of practice for so long. No longer was this adrenaline rush thrumming through him because of the fun of it all, no, this was pure fear. It had been a long time since he’d felt fear on a job. Stupid, he was so stupid for agreeing to this. How could he think he was ready to go back to investigating? How could he do this without Raphael? 

He had been wrong before; Aziraphale wasn’t the pathetic one, Crowley was. 

Crowley was useless and stupid just like always. He never made the right decision. He was always wrong, and dangerously so. He got people killed. He was going to get Aziraphale killed if he stayed here, if he helped him remove this entity. He needed to get out. 

He needed to get out now. 

_ Why weren’t his legs moving? _

The pressure in his head built until he felt like it would explode. His body felt like it was shutting down, the exact opposite of what he needed it to do so he could leave. Horror seized his limbs and forced him into such violent motion that he lost his footing as he tried to scramble away. For the second time in one night he went ass over teakettle off the sofa. 

Crowley’s chest seized and released as he sucked in a lungful of much-needed air. The hard landing jolted him out of his panicked thoughts, allowing him to bend in half to rest his sweaty forehead against the floor. 

* * *

After what felt like an eternity, Crowley dragged himself upright. The eerie coldness and oppressive atmosphere were gone, the room settling back into its cluttered chaos and vague uneasiness. 

“That was a thing. Fuck.” He spoke out loud, trying to will his breathing to slow down. He needed his heart to stop thundering in his ears so he could think. 

Was this the doing of a spirit or was it the stress of being back on the job after so many years? Crowley didn’t like to admit he may be rusty, that his mental defenses against the paranormal had gone stale, but it was a truth he would probably have to face. Without any gear to confirm the temperature change and catch the sound of footsteps or record the shadow, he pretty much had to give this one up to the unknown. His emotions were far too volatile (especially after drinking so much) to think his experience was anything more than a panic attack of his own mind’s making. 

Crowley knew one thing for certain: he didn’t want to spend the rest of the night in this space. Carefully, he hauled himself to his feet and aimed his body for the stairs leading up to Aziraphale’s flat. 

It was much smaller than he first believed, because he hadn’t realized the shop extended to the second story. Another small lamp had been left turned on on a side table, allowing him to see everything clearly. 

The living and kitchen areas were all open concept, though Crowley doubted it had anything to do with what was trendy and more so the tenant wouldn't feel trapped. There wasn’t enough space to fit a full-size dining table so the two areas were broken up by an island, barstools tucked up beneath the lip of the countertop on one side. 

Unsurprisingly all the walls were taken up by shelves of every size, each stuffed to the gills with more books. The kitchen was serviceable, just updated enough to be acceptable to most. The whole setup was rather cozy and amazingly much less cluttered than the shop. 

A pressing need made itself known in Crowley’s bladder and he set out to find the toilet. As he passed by the kitchen island he noticed a glass of water sitting next to two little pills and a note. 

_ Just in case _

_ AZF _

An uncomfortable warmth spread through Crowley’s chest as he imagined Aziraphale writing the note, pottering around his kitchen. It felt like heartburn. He told himself not to read too much into it and continued down the small hallway, flipping on the light outside an open door to find a compact but full-service bathroom. He quickly did his business and flinched at the sound of the toilet flushing, realizing Aziraphale would hear it with his bedroom so close. Hopefully he was sound asleep. 

“Crowley? Is that you?” Aziraphale stood in the threshold of his bedroom door, hands wringing slightly in front of his rounded stomach. 

“Last I checked ghosts don’t use the toilet.” Crowley's tone was sharper than he meant for it to be, but he was still on edge and wanted to be left alone. 

“Oh, yes. You’re right. Sorry.” 

“Don’t worry about it, ignore me. I’m just heading toward hungover. Why’re you awake? Something happen?”

“No, no. I have terrible sleeping habits I suppose." Aziraphale glanced away. "Getting lost in a good book is far more preferable to sleeping. Di-did something happen downstairs?” 

“Ehhhyeahwellehhmmm it’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.” 

“Nothing to worry about then. Heard a few footsteps is all, nothing I can prove outright. Look, I’m just gonna kip on the sofa up here for the rest of the night. The shop is quiet now and I want to make sure this thing doesn’t move around.” That was a pretty reasonable lie, Crowley thought. 

“Whatever you feel is best. I may try to sleep soon, but do feel free to help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” Aziraphale moved back inside his room. “I set some water and ibuprofen out for you.”

“I saw. Thanks ang- ngk. Aziraphale.” Crowley turned quickly to hide the heat rising in his cheeks. He’d definitely have to remember to quit using that silly name tomorrow. Drunk Crowley had a knack getting Sober Crowley into trouble. 

After downing the pills and the water he dozed fitfully on Aziraphale’s much comfier personal sofa, waking at dawn to avoid any early morning chitchat. Crowley stared at the note for a moment, then ripped the page off the pad to stuff in his jacket pocket. Hearing movement coming from the bedroom, he scribbled a hasty thank you along with his phone number, beating a quick retreat downstairs to head home.

_ Just in case _


	5. It isn’t an Ineffable Husbands fic if Aziraphale doesn’t call Crowley a foul fiend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! My deepest thanks to all of you who comment, leave kudos and subscribe/bookmark! I see you and appreciate the support immensely. To all those protesting around the world, please stay safe.

After sleeping until noon, scarfing down some severely leftover pad thai in his wonderfully not haunted flat, and making one minor detour, Crowley found himself sitting on the floor of the bookshop unpacking his gear.

He couldn’t quite explain why he found it necessary to keep his cameras, recorders, and microphones all up to date when he no longer went on investigations, but he was glad that little habit never died. He didn’t even have to worry about missing wires or batteries since everything was brand new and mostly still in the original packaging. 

As he arranged everything into neat little piles, a certain angel hovered anxiously nearby. 

“Can you tell me the purpose of...all this?” Aziraphale was hesitant asking his question. Crowley smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, something he didn’t often do. He’d have to practice more (to promote good customer service of course, nothing else).

“Sure, no secrets here. Some investigators like to rely on evidence to prove or disprove a haunting. This means using cameras and recorders to capture voices, objects moving on their own, full-body apparitions - stuff like that. I happen to be one such investigator.” Crowley resisted the urge to preen; what could he say, he was an investigation snob.

“What do others rely upon?”

“Ehhh, some like to base an investigation on _feelings_ ,” Crowley snarled, “but to me, that’s piss poor investigating. Others use psychics and mediums to do all the work for them.”

“So that’s a bad way to investigate.” It was framed as more of a statement than a question but Crowley answered anyway. 

“Yeah, in my opinion. Say you go into a room and get a bad feeling. Your stomach gets upset and you start sweating. You think it’s a ghost, right? Wrong. It’s actually a bad piece of fish you had for lunch.” He placed his last camera on the floor and squinted up into a pair of very wide blue eyes. “Psychics or mediums are fine as long as they aren’t frauds. Most of ‘em are.”

“You’ve worked with Tracy and believe her to be ‘on the level’ as they say?” 

Crowley snickered at Aziraphale’s awkward use of slang. “Yeah, she’s on the level. Never trusted anyone before her and I haven’t since. Buddy of mine told me about her after I spent half a night venting over a case; didn’t give him any details mind you, just vague frustration at hitting a wall. Couldn’t convince a spirit to move on and it was driving the homeowner crazy.

My team agreed to ask Tracy for help and she did. Walked right into this bloke’s house and told him all the weird things he’d experienced were caused by his recently deceased wife, ‘cause she buried the key to the safe deposit box in the garden and died before she could tell him. Sure enough we go out into the garden, dig near the tomatoes, and find that key. No way could I be skeptical after that.

To me _that_ is proof, but only because Tracy isn’t a con. Others will bring in a so-called medium to spout a bunch of meaningless tripe. ‘Someone with an A in their name wants you to know they miss you but love being dead’ sort of drivel. Bilk gullible folks right outta their money with that trick.”

Aziraphale’s brows pulled together in confusion. “Certainly people don’t take them at their word, do they?”

“Course they do. Death is one of the biggies, yeah? Some don’t cope so well, want to believe their loved ones are okay or are watching over the living. S’nice in theory but lying to these poor sods and stealing their money is despicable.” Crowley snorted out a harsh breath, worked up more than he meant to be. A little white lie here and there never hurt anyone but what some of his colleagues got up to sometimes made his stomach churn. 

The two men were silent for a minute before Aziraphale pulled over the stool he kept behind the cash register and perched on top, staring down at all the gear spread across his foyer. “Right. So how do you do it then?”

Crowley ducked his head so Aziraphale couldn’t see his grin, then pointed at two slim black rectangles in front of him. “First thing I need to do is take a baseline reading of each room’s temperature and EMF levels. Temperature and EMF spikes might be a sign of a spirit close by, and I’ll need to make a note of any place in the building where those numbers are already high. Old places like this almost always have bad wiring that messes up my readings.”

“I had the wiring updated a few years ago, so hopefully it won’t be a problem for you.”

“Good to know. Then I’ll need to set up cameras along the path the spirit seems to travel. I’ve got a couple thermal cameras that’ll go down here covering the windows, and one I’ll use to record the window upstairs in your flat. I have night vision goggles but I don’t normally use ‘em unless I think something is definitely making its presence known. Got more than a few night vision cameras I’d like to use to cover every area of the shop.

Another camera will go out in my car. Parked across the street so I can set up a test, see if I can recreate what we saw on that video. Normally I'd have someone outside to help but it’s just me and I'm not setting a thousand pound camera on the street.”

“You think I’m making it up?” Aziraphale’s voice was colored more with curiosity than anger.

“Not necessarily,” Crowley explained. “ _You_ might not be putting on a show but it doesn’t mean someone _else_ didn’t break into your shop, or maybe they’re trying to prank you. If I can’t recreate it from the inside, it’s possible someone had a projector set up nearby and is goofing around. That’d be my next test.” He pointed at the projector he picked up from Oscar's electronics shop across the street, his detour a good way to buy needed gear, and to make sure Oscar wasn't a suspicious party in this whole game. 

“Who would do such a thing?”

“Rival booksellers, kids, people who think aiming a laser pointer at passing cars is funny. Anyone you’ve pissed off. Idiots basically.” Crowley continued, “‘sides, you want me to be skeptical.”

“I do?”

“Mmmmhmmm.” He stopped fiddling with his camera wires to look Aziraphale steadily in the eye. “Any investigator who comes in and believes everything you say is a moron. You want someone to challenge you, to try and tear apart everything you claim. That way when they give you what they consider evidence of a haunting, you know it’s one hundred percent something they can’t explain. Scamming goes both ways in this business.”

“But you’re not like that, even though you’ve been on television.” It was said flatly and with no small amount of disbelief.

Crowley dragged a hand through his hair. “No, I’m not. The network tried that shit in the beginning, rigging hauntings and faking evidence, but Raphael put a stop to it. Threatened to quit. I might’ve had the experience but they needed him. He was better with people. Can’t have an entirely unlikable crew no matter how good they are.” Crowley didn’t begrudge them that. Having someone willing to make nice allowed him to focus entirely on the case and rip people apart when they lied. 

Some dime store tabloid called him the “Simon Cowell of ghost hunting” and none of his crew ever let him live it down. Pricks. On a good day he missed them. 

Crowley didn’t need to get sucked into the past and pushed on before Aziraphale could argue more about his honor. “Got a few questions. Have you done any renovations to the place recently?” 

Aziraphale didn’t seem phased by the abrupt change in subject. “No. I had the flat built after I bought it, oh goodness 22 years ago now? and it took a fair bit of fighting to get that accomplished in such an old building. Money does indeed ‘talk’ though, The only construction in the shop came from moving the toilet upstairs to shove in the bathroom. There wasn’t enough space to keep them separate and I was _not_ about to come downstairs in the middle of the night for a wee. The wiring was updated as I said about three years ago.”

“Did the rewire stir up any activity?”

“I wouldn’t know. The noise and the workers were so bothersome I took a vacation for an entire two months. They were finished after two weeks but no one said a thing to me about odd noises or moving shadows.” Aziraphale shrugged. “Nothing was amiss when I returned.”

“When did you notice something was off?” 

Aziraphale frowned. “I don’t know that I did, to be frank. If I absolutely had to guess I’d say the shop felt strange after I returned from my rare books convention in France. That was two weeks ago.”

“Did you close the shop?”

Aziraphale shook his head. “I left it open. My godson Newton came to interview for a job nearby and offered to help. He’s not very good at finding steady work and being here makes him feel useful. There’s no technology for him to break, you see. I’ve never seen someone who could break a computer by looking at it until Newt was born.”

“And he never mentioned seeing anything unusual?”

“He was a bit preoccupied - his interview didn’t go as well as he’d planned. I can call him and ask though, maybe he’ll remember something. He found a job working nights at an airfield base so I’ll have to wait until the morning.”

Crowley grabbed a couple cameras and unfolded himself to stand. “Do that. Uh, I mean, thanks. I’ll start setting up and you can do whatever it is you normally do now.”

“I’ll be upstairs reading. Give a shout if you need help.”

* * *

With all of his cameras connecting wirelessly to his laptop, Crowley’s set up took hardly any time at all. His plan for having at least one camera hardwired in meant he’d have to stay downstairs for the night but Aziraphale’s office felt like a pretty neutral place to hole up out of the way. His presence the night before hadn’t interfered with the spirit manifesting but now Crowley was actively watching, instead of sleeping on the couch like a tit. 

His last thermal camera needed to capture the shop’s entry doors, placed far enough away so the ceiling and the floor were both visible in the frame. This meant perching it on a tripod in the …rotunda? Roundabout? Roundish second entryway…thing? Meh, it wasn’t important.

After securing the camera on the tripod he checked the camera angle with the app on his phone. No matter how he positioned the camera or the tripod itself, the angle appeared as being badly tilted. Crowley couldn’t feel any disruptions in the flat surface beneath his boots but the thick expensive rug protecting the floorboards wasn’t helping. Moving it out the way would allow him to see any sloping so he could correctly position the gear for maximum stability.

Except when he dragged back part of the rug the floor was not bare. A massive white circle was painted directly on the hardwood, as large as the rug itself. Inside the circle were all kinds of strange symbols Crowley couldn’t identify, but the power emanating from the thing was enough to make his bones creak. He was no expert but he'd bet money he was staring at a portal of some kind. How did he not feel this earlier?

Anger boiled up in his veins. Aziraphale had _lied_ to him. Several times, in fact. He wasn’t in danger and he wasn’t some adorably old-fashioned gentleman, no, he was a grade-A deceiver and dabbled in potentially dark arts. This wasn’t a case of Crowley being called in to help someone innocent, but was instead just another case of a foolish idiot who thought the laws of dark magic didn’t apply to him.

He stomped over to the staircase and barked at the open door, “Aziraphale! Where are you!?”

Aziraphale appeared at the top of the stairs. “I’m right here dear boy, no need to shout. Is something amiss?”

“You bet there is. Get down here and explain this mess.” Crowley turned his back and ground his teeth so forcefully his jaw ached. He really didn’t enjoy allowing himself to be played for a fool and yet here he was, pride stinging and some other sort of deeper hurt wiggling around in his stomach.

Muttering under his breath about needing to calm down, Aziraphale trotted down the stairs and brushed past Crowley to look where the other was pointing. “Goodness me, there’s no need to be so forceful, Crowley, I am coming. Now what is it you-“ He stopped short, staring at the outlines of the circle. “ _Foul fiend! What have you done to my floor?”_

“So you admit- wait, what _I_ did?” But Aziraphale was hardly listening to him now, pulling the rest of the rug off to the side of the room, his hands tugging at his blonde curls as he revealed the full design.

“This was the only original bit of floor left after the bombings in 1941, oh how could you? _Snake!_ Tracy never said you would come in and deface my property in such a, a demonic manner!”

Okay, Crowley had to admit this was not the reaction he had been expecting. “What the _hell_ are you on about? I didn’t do this – you did! You’ve set me up!”

“I did no such thing, you _v_ _ile tempter_! Traitorous tongue!”

“What is your problem?”

“This is _outrageous_ -“

“ _This_ is some kind of dark ritual, stop denying-“

“You _dare_ impugn my honor-“

“Well if _you_ didn’t do it then who did-“

“It’s a _scandal_ -“

“Aziraphale-“

“I can’t _believe_ -“

“ _Aziraphale_ -“

“Not another word-“

“OI ANGEL SHUT UP”

Crowley’s shout seemed to bring Aziraphale out of his bizarre religious tirade. “Oh dear.” His hands worried at the bottom of his waistcoat. “I seem to have…forgotten myself for a minute.” His eyes flashed. “I am still rather cross with you about this, however.”

“Aziraphale, I’m trying to tell you that I didn’t do this. I moved the rug back and boom! ritual circle.” Crowley rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Thought you did it but apparently you get biblical over a nice mahogany.”

Aziraphale bypassed pink and blushed full scarlet. “I suppose that was a bit of an overreaction.” He gestured helplessly at the markings. “But who would do this? This wasn’t here three weeks ago.”

Crowley stepped closer now that he wasn’t in danger of a good smiting. “Three weeks? You’re certain?”

“Indeed, because I had this rug sent out for cleaning. People have dreadfully filthy shoes and they rather enjoy wiping them on my carpets. It came back just before I left for France.” Aziraphale’s face fell even more. “Do you think someone broke into my shop?”

“And did this without you hearing them? Or noticing at all? Even I find that hard to believe. Who's been here?”

“Let’s see…a few customers - some regulars, some looking for novelty…Tracy of course, she tries to visit once a week if she can…Oscar came ‘round for his usual chat…oh and well, Newton. Newton was here…alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the awkward place this ended, but I hit 2500 words and wasn't even close to where I thought I'd be! I can't subject you to a 4000-word chapter...I mean I could, but I don't think it would flow right. I think this story is going to end up much longer than I first expected because the characters keep doing whatever they want. There's still so much left to show and explain. 
> 
> I figure now is a good time to explain the 'M' rating for this story. There will be intimate moments in future chapters but nothing explicit. I fall somewhere on the aro/ace spectrum and while I've written smut before, I much prefer to read it by the other wonderful authors in this fandom. We live so well on the smut here :) So the M is mostly for language, scary situations, and intimate moments that will leave more to the imagination.


	6. It isn't an Ineffable Husbands fic if Aziraphale doesn't say Fuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I'm sorry for the delay this week! Originally this chapter was part of a larger one, but Crowley's first proper night of investigation is giving me ALL the trouble. I decided to break it up to get *something* up now. I should have the next chapter ready this weekend and it will be much longer (it's already at 2000 words AND has footnotes). 
> 
> Again, every comment and kudo left gives me great joy! I so appreciate all of you reading along. There are so many great fics here and I'm glad you gave this one a shot

**Voicemail of one Newton Pulsifer**

> _“Hello, Newton? It’s Uncle Aziraphale - from the bookshop…I suppose you already know that…_ Yes, I’m getting on with it, Crowley _. Ah, I discovered something unusual in the shop this evening and I’d like to invite you over on a night you’re free…_
> 
> Now, Aziraphale. He needs to get here now.
> 
> Yes, _fine,_ Crowley, as you wish. _Um. On second thought, Newt, I’d prefer if you could come as quickly as possible, perhaps tomorrow? It really is quite urgent. Do let me know if you can make it._

Aziraphale hung up his antique phone and glared at Crowley. “You know, I may appear addle-brained to the rest of the world but I am still capable of making my own phone call.”

Crowley scoffed. “Right, well next time add a little urgency to it would you? Sounded like you were inviting him ‘round for tea!” 

“Stop being so dramatic; as far as I’m concerned I _am_ just inviting him for tea. I don’t believe for one second Newt had any kind of nefarious intentions if he drew that circle.”

“What, do you think he tripped on some paint and fell down in the shape of random significant symbols?”

“No, of course not–“

“And then imbued it with power?”

“–really–”

“And then got melted candle wax all over your 200-year-old surviving hardwood?”

“That’s…well…Fuck.”

Cursing rarely surprised Crowley; in fact, he knew plenty of prim, innocent-looking people who swore like sailors. He also could tell Aziraphale was a bit a bastard so it really shouldn’t have caught him so off guard, but it did and he couldn’t hold back a startled bark of laughter if his life had depended on it.

“Crowley, do be serious.” Though his tone was chiding, Aziraphale looked unbearably smug. “People who swear are considered to be more intelligent, you know.”

“Is that a scientific fact or just a meme promoting bad behavior?” Crowley just barely resisted the urge to wink. 

Were they…flirting? Nah, couldn’t be. They’d only just met the day before – it was too early for flirting, wasn’t it? Besides, they’d been about to tear each other to pieces only a little while ago.

Wait, did Crowley _want_ it to be flirting? Oh. Now there was an interesting question.

It’d be completely inappropriate while on the job, but that wasn’t Crowley’s biggest concern. He hadn’t _wanted_ to flirt with anyone in the three years Raphael had been gone. He didn't know how to feel about possibly wanting to flirt again.

“Crowley? I seem to have lost you.” Aziraphale looked at him quizzically.

“Sorry, uh just thinking about the next step. In the investigation.”

“Yes, I am quite curious where we go from here. I take it you’ve seen this sort of thing before?”

Crowley half shrugged. “Not enough to be familiar with whatever that,” he pointed to the circle, “is, but enough to know I need to call in an expert. I just don’t know how long it will take her to get here.”

“Expert?”

“Yeah, well, a witch actually. Tracy never wanted to be on the telly and I needed someone who didn’t mind being on camera.” Crowley scuffed at the floor with the toe of his boot. He hadn't seen anyone from the show in well over a year. 

Aziraphale, on the other hand, looked thoroughly delighted. “Oh, you must mean Anathema! What a delightful young woman. She has such spunk.” 

“ _Please_ never tell her that, I’m begging you. You know of her, I take it?”

“I’ve just gotten to season three, where you introduce her and-“

“Wha-you watched the show?” Crowley knew he was staring but couldn't stop himself. 

“Of course I did. I said I would and I meant it. Anathema makes a wonderful addition to your team. Do we see a lot of her?”

Crowley was mildly dumbfounded over this new revelation. He thought Aziraphale was just being polite when he'd asked after Crowley's work. “She became a regular in season 4. Everyone loved her too much not to bring her on more often, even just for normal investigations. She’s a pain in the ass but a good kid, and hellishly smart.”

“You’re going to invite her here then?”

“First I’m going to send her a photo of your circle, which I highly suspect is some kind of portal. Her home base is in California but she travels so much I can only hope she’s nearby.”

Aziraphale appeared to be considering his next words very carefully. “Is she truly a witch?”

“Mmmmmmaybe? It’s more like she has a documented witch in her family, and I say documented because her ancestor wrote a book - prophecies I think, true ones. It’s something like ‘The Nice and Accurate…”

_“…Prophecies of Agnes Nutter?!”_ Crowley found the sleeve of his Henley being tugged rather forcefully and struggled not to stumble over his own feet as he pitched sideways.

“Uh yeah, that sounds right. I see you’ve heard of it.”

Aziraphale released him and began to pace excitedly. “Heard of it?! Dear boy, I’ve been trying to get my hands on a copy of that book for decades. There’s only one in existence! Will she bring it with her, do you think?”

“Probably? I’m pretty sure she takes it everywhere she goes.”

Aziraphale looked like he was about to faint. “Oh. Oh my,” he breathed. “I need…I need to clean!”

“I don’t think Anathema will mind a bit of dust-“

“No! Not the girl, the book! Dust can be very damaging to books. I like to keep a fine layer on the shelves to make the customers uncomfortable but oh my goodness, there can’t be a speck of dust in this place if the work of Agnes Nutter is to cross my threshold.”

“I don’t know if anyone has ever told you this, but you are the weirdest person I’ve ever met.”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “They have indeed, but I rather like the idea someone so interesting would think so.”

Crowley felt his face grow warm. “Ah, ha, thanks. Um. Right. Okay, I’m going to ring Anathema and then start the investigation.” He held up a hand as Aziraphale went to interrupt. “Ah ah ah, angel. Anathema isn’t coming tonight, you’ve got plenty of time to clean tomorrow. Tonight belongs to me.”

Call Crowley crazy but for just a second he thought he saw something akin to heat flash behind Aziraphale’s eyes, realizing too late how intimate his words were. “Ngk. I mean, uh, got to get on with it then.” He backed away slowly, then spun around and snagged his mobile off the table where he left it.

Quickly snapping a picture of the markings he texted it to Anathema, then pulled up her number and waited for the call to connect. It rang through to voicemail.

“Nath – it’s Crowley. I know it’s been a while but I’m helpin’ out a friend and it might be serious. We think his godson could be involved with portal summoning, that’s the photo I sent you, and I need backup. I…hope you’re doing well.”

He ended the call, letting his shoulders sag under the pressure he was starting to feel. Was he taking this too seriously? All this doubt and worry was clouding his professional judgment. 

The clearing of a throat behind him damn near startled him out of his skin. “Jesus, fuck! I thought you went upstairs?”

Aziraphale was still standing in the same spot as before, his hands back to their steady habit of tugging at the bottom of his waistcoat. “You said you’re helping a friend. Were you referring to Tracy, or - to me?”

Crowley felt his black heart soften just a little. He wasn’t sure if Aziraphale had many close friends, but if others had called him odd then chances were he always felt a little out of place. Crowley could understand that; he was usually the weirdest person people knew too. It could be lonely, if he allowed himself to think about it too much. 

“Course I meant you. Can’t share three bottles of wine with someone and not be friends after, yeah?”

Aziraphale’s answering smile could have powered half of London. “Quite right. And…and I’d rather like to be friends with the only person to ever give me a nickname I don’t hate. Good luck with your investigation, my dear.”

Crowley sorely missed his glasses at times like this, because he knew his expression was bordering on dewy-eyed, silly fool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So next chapter we'll see Crowley actually investigating, and future chapters will hold more backstory for both characters (like who the heck Raphael is), along with the introduction to witch-wonder Anathema and of course, dear Newt. Tracy might pop by again if she feels like it (I'm just along for the ride). The core story takes place over the course of about a week so it moves fairly fast, but I also described this to a friend as 'a slow burn so slow you'll wonder if it isn't just a buddy fic'.


	7. It isn’t an Ineffable Husbands fic if Crowley doesn’t tempt himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA! Triumph. Here is the next chapter, as promised. I wrote and rewrote this blasted thing so hopefully you all like it. I'll come back before the next chapter and fix the footnotes so the numbers match previous chapters. If you all ever experience writer's block I highly recommend playing In the Air Tonight by Phil Collins. Works every time. 
> 
> Crowley also has me adding extra characters in the coming chapters. I wasn't going to but I just do what he tells me.

Crowley waited for Aziraphale to close the door to his flat before picking up his thermometer, EMF detector[14], and recorder. He’d already done his initial sweep of the first floor and found nothing out of the ordinary. Usually, a building as old as this one had a least one ‘fear cage’[15] area that needed dismantling but the rewire appeared to have been extremely thorough. Because Aziraphale didn’t have enough electronics to create one himself, he could now be confident that any EMF spikes he noted were definitely good indicators of a haunting.

Temperature readings were fairly consistent throughout the shop as well, though the rooms facing the street were a few degrees cooler than anywhere else. This could certainly indicate paranormal activity, but Crowley figured it was more likely due to the fact that the shop’s owner was a little hedonist who had aircon installed at some point. It was much too late in the year for it to be running but it couldn’t be discounted even so. He wouldn’t be comfortable using temperature readings as evidence unless they coincided with proper paranormal activity.

Avoiding the charged portal was paramount tonight. The thing was clearly active, and Crowley didn’t want to dick around with it until he could consult with Anathema. He had already fucked up enough in his lifetime so no, best to leave it alone until he knew more. If Aziraphale or anyone else got hurt because he chose to be careless yet again? He knew he wouldn’t survive it this time.

Under normal circumstances, he would dive right into an EVP [16] session but for tonight he’d change things up and wait for the spirit to make itself known, rather than try to entice it to come out and interact. He didn’t have much of a choice since he was working solo anyway – observation would always come first on the first night of any investigation, and he was the only one here to do that. This meant settling down in Aziraphale’s charmingly messy office with his own laptop and tablet to alternate between camera feeds and watch for signs of activity. 

As the hours passed, Crowley realized he’d forgotten how tedious this part of the job was. Playing lead investigator for ten years meant he had a team of others to do this for him. Oh, he pitched in and reviewed footage when they investigated an overly large property or castle, but he’d always been more than happy to leave it to Hastur and Liger[17] (with oversight from Bee because she was terrifying and could keep them in line). Doing this alone reminded him of all the time he spent at fifteen years old sitting in graveyards and sneaking into ruins with his father’s old Polaroid, his excitement overriding any need for sleep.

Now all he wanted was a nap.

A muffled thump came from outside the door of Aziraphale’s office, immediately startling him out of his drowsy fantasy of bedtime. Bringing up the feeds from the thermal and night vision cameras set up in that area showed a large book lying smack in the middle of the floor. According to the thermal camera readings, a small blue ball hovered just above the displaced tome, indicating an abnormal coldness.

Crowley assessed the scene with a critical eye:

1\. Was the book on the floor when he’d passed through earlier? No, the floor had been clear and that could be confirmed with cameras.

2\. Could the book have fallen from a nearby shelf or pile? Possibly, though unlikely because where the book fell was not close to any shelves or stacks.

3\. Could the cold spot be explained by an open window or aircon? No. The windows in that room didn’t open and aircon wouldn’t make such a concentrated ball of cold air.

Leaving the cameras recording on his laptop, he used his tablet to rewind the night vision footage to find he had committed the same angle sin as the electronics shop owner – though he could clearly see the book dropping, he could not see precisely where it came from or what caused it to fall. Blast it all to hell! He wanted so badly to do this right and here he was cocking things up already by not having a second pair of eyes to help.

Crowley snagged his thermometer and moved out into the semi-darkness to document the temperature for comparison to his baseline reading. Though the room would never be truly dark because of the outside lights filtering in through the dusty window, he still flipped on his phone’s built-in torch app to see if anything else had been disturbed. It was definitely nippy now, like the remnants of a strong wing remained, but otherwise all was peaceful; even the ever-present street noise was quiet for once.

He completed a quick perimeter walk of the space, confirmed the decrease in temp, and hightailed it back to the office before he tempted himself to do more. The second his bum hit the chair, however, the coldness his thermal was detecting convulsed on the screen and deepened to near purple. As he watched with breathless anticipation the book shivered, pages fluttering open in a non-existent breeze.

_This_ was the exciting part. Even a small thing like pages moving untouched was exhilarating, and to have it backed up by a growing cold spot was one of the best pieces of evidence a ghost hunter could ask for. He wasn’t entirely certain Aziraphale would be thrilled about it but at least he would know the changed atmosphere in his shop had a cause.

Perhaps popping out there to do a quick EVP session wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, it was expected of him after all.

When Crowley stepped into the room this time he noticed a considerable decrease in the amount of light coming through the window, and his thin Henley and tight jeans now stood no chance against the freezing chill in the air. Skirting the fallen book, he took a seat on the sofa and placed his recorder on the table in front of him.

He pressed the button to start recording and began speaking.

“Is there someone here?” He asked. “If you’d like to speak to me, you can use the device I’ve got here on the table. Sometimes it allows me to hear what you’re saying. Get close and speak as loudly as you can. I might not hear you right away but I’ll come back tomorrow night.”

Crowley waited a few moments to give the spirit time to reply. So many times did investigators ask their questions too quickly to get a proper response, leaving themselves later disappointed by the answering silence.

“Who are you? Do you have a name?”

“Why are you here?”

“Do you know you’re dead?”

“Did you live here? Or work here?”

“Do you need help? Are you stuck?”

“Would you like me to help you move on?”

He repeated his questions twice more, just to be sure his bases were covered. There was not even a whisper of sound as he waited for a response.

“I’m going to leave now but I’ll keep this device turned on, so if you’d like to speak while I’m not here just aim for this part.” He tapped the mic for emphasis.

Crowley was back in the office not more than fifteen minutes and had begun to daydream again when a flash of white on the laptop screen caught his attention. He blinked hard to clear his eyes as something he’d never witnessed before so early in an investigation began to happen: slowly, ever so slowly, a pale cloud began to take shape on his night vision camera. Squinting at the screen, he felt his mouth fall open a little as it became increasingly clear he was seeing part of an arm. A forearm, to be exact, with a wispy see-through hand attached.

_A partial, **visible** apparition on the first night?!_

The urge to shout in triumph was horribly overwhelming so he bit at a knuckle and growled his appreciation until it passed. Never would he have believed this had it not been happening right in front of his eyes. Observation and debunking be damned; he couldn’t do this on his own anyway, he knew it before the night even started. Tomorrow he could focus on taking the room apart and getting some more help, but right now he wanted to bask in all the potential this case was bringing him.

As though the apparition could hear Crowley’s overly excited thoughts, the hand reared back without haste (as though it were underwater) and then slapped at the book, sending it spiraling farther across the floor and out of view. O-kay, _now_ he knew he had to act.

He charged through the doorway for the third time and stopped dead in his tracks: the entire atmosphere of the room had changed while he was gone. The air was so icy it was soaking into his bones and he knew he should be able to see his breath, only he couldn’t because all the light in the room had disappeared. Where it had been hazy only twenty minutes prior, the darkness surrounding Crowley now felt thick and syrupy, so black it swallowed up everything – every shelf, every stick of furniture, every pile of books gobbled up by what, the shadow he’d made a very brief acquaintance with?

Were there two spirits here?

He could only hope whatever was here was willing to interact with his recorder so he could get at least one or two answers to his burning questions.

And something was in the room with him, that he knew for certain. There was no way to shake the sensation of being watched and just the thought of it made his breath hitch wildly, his limbs trembling from the urge to launch himself backwards into the relative safety of the office.

Another muffled thump sounded from a different part of the shop.

At least Crowley didn’t make the rookie mistake of leaving his phone behind and thumbed the torch back on. It didn’t help him see more than a foot in front of where he stood, but it was enough to maneuver around the shop for now. He needed to figure out how far this inky blackout extended. Hand extended, he tipped sideways until he made contact with a shelf. Just as he lifted one booted foot to move the light coming from his phone flickered out, only coming back when he shook the device vigorously.

“Oh don’t you fucking even,” He muttered under his breath, staring at his phone for any sign of further betrayal. The light stayed steady.

Carefully he moved down the line of the shelf, toeing over more books that had apparently been shoved from their resting places. Noises came steadily all around him now and he could only assume more books were being pulled and dumped on the floor. He’d have to clean those up before Aziraphale came downstairs or else prepare for another potential smiting. Crowley would laugh at that if he didn’t have to focus on not breaking his neck in the dark.

Reaching the area with the portal should have been a victory but his phone chose that exact moment to crap again, and this time it wasn’t turning back on. The thrumming power of the circle lapped at his feet and calves so he backed up a few steps and hoped to Somebody he could reach the stairs leading to Aziraphale’s flat. Having the higher ground was probably his only advantage in the situation; he just had to get there.

Books fell at a faster rate as he inched blindly along, his sharp hips banging into every table along the way (the tightness of his jeans forced him to move slowly but they did nothing for his balance). The power of the circle diminished the farther he moved away from it but now came the tricky part – he’d run out of wall to follow and now it was just a straight shot across open floor to the stairs from here.

The first unprotected step Crowley took was uneventful. If only that held true.

Something solid smacked against his knee on the second step.

The third step had books catching his elbow, shoulder, and back.

On the fourth step books began raining from above and he had to throw his arms up to shield his head from the blows.

The faster he walked, the more books pelted his body. By the time he reached the stairs it sounded like a train was thundering through the shop and Crowley briefly wondered how Aziraphale was sleeping through the ruckus. His hand grasped the railing and suddenly it was as though someone flipped on a switch to a wind tunnel. He couldn’t see them but he could feel the books whirling around him, one smacking him squarely in the face hard enough to make his teeth clack together. He hunched in on himself, doing his best to protect the most vulnerable parts of his body and tried to use the railing as a barricade.

Crowley didn’t know how long he was trapped on the staircase, but it felt like absolute ages before all the books crashed to the floor. He slid out from beneath a large pile and found the faint streetlights were streaming into the shop once again. Now he just had to hope his cameras were able to capture some of the madness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 14 EMF, or an electromagnetic field, is an area of moving electrical charges. Basically, our electronics have been found to put out low-level, typically harmless waves of radiation. If high levels of EMF are detected in a spot where there are no electronics/electricity it could be a sign of a spirit. Ghosts are supposed to be made up of energy, after all.[return to text]
> 
> 15 A fear cage is an area where EMF readings are extremely high. High EMF can cause paranoia, nausea, anxiety, and hallucinations. This can make one think they are being haunted.[return to text]
> 
> 16 Electronic voice phenomena – using a device like a recorder or camera to capture voices that cannot be heard otherwise.[return to text]
> 
> 17 Unsurprisingly not their real names. Everybody in Hollywood just has to have a catchy name, don’t they?[return to text]


	8. It isn’t an Ineffable Husbands fic if Warlock and Adam aren’t going to be boyfriends eventually

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Here is an extra long chapter this week. I might not be able to update because my cat may have to have another tumor removed - fingers crossed it's benign!
> 
> Don't judge me too harshly for Warlock and Adam - I've aged them up so they're at university and all I remember about that age is how incredibly dumb I could be. Everybody I know around their age in real life acts like an old lady like me, ha! 
> 
> Some content warnings this time around: implied homophobia, death flashbacks, plane crash

Crowley was, in a word, exhausted.

Once he was certain there would be no more activity during the night, he had spent the rest of his time in the shop putting wayward books back on random shelves. If it fit, it went. He figured Aziraphale wouldn’t even notice.

“What. Happened. To. My. Books. Crowley.”

Aziraphale had noticed.

“Uh, yeah. So, about that.” Crowley hung off the side of his oversized throne chair that lived in his home office, phone dangling precariously from his hand as though it were going to bite him. The chair wasn’t comfortable in the slightest, but it matched the gaudy custom marble desk he had commissioned when he was a still very immature thirty-year-old. After twelve years he couldn’t just get rid of it, now could he?

“Yes, Crowley, about _that_. Do you know what I found today as I was cleaning?” Crowley winced at Aziraphale’s sharp tone. “Some of my first editions relocated themselves to the first floor! The first editions I very specifically keep on the second floor because people don’t like stairs and are less likely to find them up there. What in the seven hells went on last night?”

“It’s not like I went about tossing your books all night long.” For chrissake, Crowley needed to get control of his damned traitorous tongue. He barreled on, “It was the entity! It gave one helluva show – look, angel, I’ve got someone helping me review the video and I’ll have it by this evening. I’ll show you whatever the cameras caught and explain everything, okay?”

He could hear Aziraphale’s answering ‘harrumph’. “Very well.”

“And look at the bright side – I bet a lot of your shelves got dusted, so less for you to do today, yeah?” Crowley aimed for a charming chuckle but let it die out as it met unyielding silence.

“Please don’t be angry,” Crowley said softly.

He felt more than heard Aziraphale’s answering sigh. “I’m not truly angry, I guess. But Crowley, I didn’t expect your presence to disrupt things so completely. I’m beginning to wonder if your gadgets aren’t making this worse.” He said it with such disappointment Crowley felt like he’d been punched in the stomach.

He measured his words carefully before replying, “Aziraphale, I won’t lie and say I’m not making this worse; you might be absolutely correct in that theory. I would never want to put you in danger, but what if this behavior escalates when Tracy is visiting?” He paused. “What if it finally goes after you? I couldn’t…that won’t happen.”

Aziraphale hummed, a sound Crowley swore he could feel radiating up his spine. “You’re really quite protective aren’t you, my dear?”

“Ngk. N-no. Not at _all._ Way off base, you are.” Crowley hated how gruff his voice sounded. “S’bad for business, innit? Need you to stay alive is all.”

“Whatever you say, of course. Should I expect you at the same time this evening?”

“Mmm probably a bit earlier, so we can review the video. Need a favor from you tonight, if you’re up for it.”

“Oh?”

“Need to use that insomnia of yours. S’hard to investigate with only one set of eyes, was thinking you could stay up with me and help.”

“Oh, oh goodness I don’t know about that. I’m not, ah, well I’m not well versed in your world.” Crowley practically felt Aziraphale wringing his hands anxiously.

Cutting off his dithering, Crowley said, “Don’t need you to be. Just need you to watch some cameras and tell me if things get interesting. It’s almost a demeaning task for an intelligent fellow such as yourself.”

Aziraphale had the audacity to giggle. “Wicked flatterer.”

“Maybe, but did it work?”

“Very well. I shall rest up in preparation but do not expect me to be brave. Feel free to text when you’re on your way.”

The two hung up and Crowley went back to reviewing video, only vaguely aware of the stupid grin on his face.

* * *

“Oh! Oh, my poor books!” Aziraphale sat at his desk, watching the various clips Crowley had cut to show him of what went on the night before. One of the night vision cameras was able to catch the beginning of the book-nado that pinned Crowley to the stairs before a wayward volume flew past and knocked the entire stand over.

“Nothing looked too badly roughed up when I was putting it away.” Crowley moved to stand next to him so he could better see the screen.

“Forgive me, dear boy, for being so callous – you were not injured, were you?” Aziraphale’s hands hovered near Crowley’s hips as though he were about to latch on and check for himself.

The mental image of those sturdy manicured hands grazing across his sides had Crowley desperately reciting parts of the thermal camera technical manual in his head in an effort not to embarrass himself.

“Ngguhh huh, what? Nah, no, wasn’t hurt a bit. Maybe a bruise or two but I’ve had much worse.” Crowley cleared his throat, aware he probably sounded like he was trying to be macho. “I mean, bruises are pretty common. Yeah.”

Aziraphale didn’t seem to notice or mind his rambling. “I didn’t realize this could be so dangerous. I don’t know if I should be more or less enthusiastic about assisting you tonight.”

“Pshaw c’mon, angel. It’ll be fun. Or you’ll be bored out of your skull…but either way I’m betting your ghostie is tired. Takes a lot of energy to perform psychokinetic acts.”

Aziraphale glanced up at him questioningly.

“Takes a lot of energy to move stuff around as it did.”

Aziraphale nodded his understanding.

Crowley clapped his hands together like some terrible play director. “Right. Associate of mine still has the audio from my EVP session so we’ll give that a listen once he’s finished cleaning it up. Want to go over what you’ll be doing tonight?”

He didn’t wait for Aziraphale’s response, choosing to nudge him off to the side so he could load the camera feeds. The shop hadn’t been opened for the day, allowing Crowley to leave his gear set up. He’d changed the batteries as soon as he arrived that afternoon.

“Okay, these are all the cameras I have. It looks like a lot, but I just need you to watch them.”

“Observation only? Nothing else?”

“Yup. And if you see something odd, you bring it up like this.” Crowley clicked on the window showing the camera pointed at the window in Aziraphale’s flat. The screen maximized so it could be seen more clearly. “Then you tell me where the activity is happening, and I can check it out.”

Aziraphale looked skeptical. “I don’t know about this. I’m not all that technologically savvy.”

“Angel, I’ve seen your laptop; you could land a plane with the damn thing.”

“Yes, well, just because I _can_ doesn’t mean I know _how_.”

“You’ll be fine, I swear. I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t think you could do it.”

“When you put it that way it would be rather rude of me to refuse. I’m sure I can manage to stare at a screen and handle a few clicks.”

“Good man. Here’s your headset-“

“My what?”

“It’s just a headset with a microphone. It’s how we’ll communicate.” Crowley tried not to laugh at Aziraphale’s panicked expression. “It’s just a two-way radio, nothing exotic. If you tell me you never dabbled with ham radio I’ll eat my sunglasses.”

Aziraphale flushed and ducked his head. “I suppose I do appreciate some aspects of amateur radio.” He took the headset from Crowley’s hand and fixed it on his head, allowing Crowley to turn it on for him.

Crowley plugged his own headset into his radio and clipped it to his belt. “See, nothing to it. We’re ready to start. I’m going to do a walkthrough now, yeah?”

* * *

Ten minutes later, Crowley was ready to put his head through the wall. He truly liked Aziraphale, liked nattering on with him about random topics, but the man was an absolute chatterbox at the worst times.

He’d asked no less than twelve questions in the time Crowley left the office and made it to the other side of the first floor.

> “What are you doing now?”
> 
> “Didn’t you take temperature readings already?”
> 
> “Why do you have to do it again?

He couldn’t take it anymore. “Aziraphale? I appreciate your curiosity but remember when I said we’d probably have to be quiet?”

“Right!” He chirped. “Sorry, my dear. You were right, this is rather exciting. Not a peep from me shall be heard from now on.”

True to his word, the next twenty minutes passed in silence. Crowley planned to spend half an hour in each section of the shop and said so over the headset, just so Aziraphale knew what was going on.

He expected at least one or two questions, but his only feedback was more silence.

“Aziraphale? Did you catch that?” Nothing. “Angel?”

Crowley moved swiftly in the direction of the office. It was entirely possible the spirit came back and was cutting off communication with Aziraphale, leaving him vulnerable.

The small light in the office was still burning as Crowley approached; in fact, he could hear…humming? When he reached just outside the door, he could see Aziraphale facing away, still sitting at his laptop. Something definitely not camera feeds was up on the screen and Aziraphale was steadily clicking his way through it. His headset lay forgotten next to him on the desk.

“Aziraphale, are you _reading_?” Crowley had a feeling he knew what Aziraphale had found on his computer.

Aziraphale whipped around comically fast. “Uh, um, Crowley! I-I was trying to get a handle on the cameras and accidentally clicked into this document.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. Leave it to this particular shopkeep to find the only manuscript he kept on that specific computer. “And you didn’t think to close it?”

“I did! I truly did, but then I saw your dedication – “In Loving Memory of Raphael”. That’s not the same - ?”

“Yeah,” Crowley mumbled at his feet, unwilling to look Aziraphale in the eyes. “Yeah, my partner. He passed a few years ago.”

Aziraphale look horrified. “Oh Crowley, your partner? How unspeakably tragic, I’m so sorry.”

“Not – not like that. Just business partner, partner on the show. Grew up together.”

“Ah, well I’m still so very sorry. It’s not ever easy losing someone.” Aziraphale turned back to the computer and closed the document. “I’m also sorry for prying. I wouldn’t have continued reading but your writing style is very engaging.”

Crowley shrugged. “S’okay. Been a while since I had the urge to write another book – you really think it’s decent?”

“Yes, more than ‘decent’ even. You’ve got quite the knack for making the reader feel like they’re right there on an investigation.” Aziraphale wiggled. “I’m looking forward to reading your other books.”

Crowley’s phone chose that moment to begin vibrating in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered without checking the screen. “What?”

“Hey, Uncle A.J. You busy?”

Ah, young Master Warlock. Crowley smiled. “Hey kid. You finished with that audio I gave you?”

“Yep. You’re gonna flip when you hear it.”

Crowley doubted that. Warlock was sometimes overly enthusiastic when it came to the paranormal. It was tough work, but Crowley had finally managed to disabuse him of the notion that every speck of dust on camera was an orb.

“Send it to me yet?”

“I’m actually in London. Want me to just bring it to you directly?”

“How fast can you get to Soho?”

“Who says I’m not standing outside this haunted-ass bookshop right now?”

“Huh?”

“Dude, this place is _famous._ It holds the record for the most negative Yelp reviews. Ever. _Ever_ , Uncle A.J.”

“How’d you know-?”

“People who’ve made it inside took photos. I recognized it from the video file you sent me to look over. Is it really run by some dotty old guy?”

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale, who was now trying to bring the camera feeds back up. “Eh, more like a rich recluse. You’re really outside?”

“Sure am. Brought Adam too, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. I could use the extra eyes and ears. I’ll let you in.”

Crowley ended the call and nudged Aziraphale’s shoulder to get his attention. “Good news, angel – you’re off the hook tonight.”

“Oh?”

“My, uh, pseudo-nephew? Bah, you know Bee, from the show? Her kid goes to uni here. She trained him how to investigate - he’s the one that helped with the video and audio. ‘pparently your shop is internet famous and he couldn’t keep himself away.”

Aziraphale scowled. “Internet famous? What exactly does that mean?”

Oh hell no, Crowley wasn’t touching that one with a ten-foot pole. He inched toward the doorway. “Not sure. Kids, you know how they talk. Gotta go let them in.”

* * *

Warlock had been telling the truth about being outside and now he and his friend Adam stood in the entryway of the shop, mouths hanging agape at the vast array of books they could see. Crowley made a mental note to check out the shop’s reputation online for himself later.

“Aziraphale, I’d like you to meet Warlock Dowling and his friend Adam Young. Lads, this is Mr. Fell – he owns the shop so mind your manners and for fuck’s sake, don’t break anything.”

Aziraphale gave a little wave. “You said Warlock is your – nephew, was it?”

“More like chosen nephew. Bee and I go way back. Been stuck with this kid since he was naught but a wee babe.”

Crowley could see why Aziraphale would think they were blood relations. They _were_ both tall and thin, which made it super easy for Crowley to pretend to be Warlock’s real uncle when filling in for Bee at school functions. Warlock had also taken a shine to Crowley’s style as he’d grown up and they often sported the same exact outfits.

Tonight, it was a simple black shirt (though Crowley’s was dressy whereas Warlock’s was a holey t-shirt) and black jeans. They did differ in some ways though: Crowley had his customary boots on and Warlock was sporting Converse, not to mention his “signature” shaggy emo fringe. Warlock also liked to play around with make-up more than Crowley did these days.

Warlock scoffed. “More like _I_ got stuck with _him_. On my eleventh birthday he told me he used to wish Mum had gotten a pet python instead of having a baby, but I was “okay”.

Aziraphale gasped. “Crowley! You didn’t!”

“A joke, it was a joke!” Crowley explained, his hand held up to proclaim his innocence.

“I call bullshit, old man. You were three sheets to the wind at my party.” Behind Warlock, Adam was snickering into his hand (or at least that’s what Crowley thought he was doing – his curly brown hair was so long he was starting to resemble Cousin It).

“A pack of lies, angel, I swear it,” Crowley lied to Aziraphale. He had been rather smashed that day. Aziraphale’s face said he didn’t believe Crowley one little bit.

He turned back to Warlock and Adam. “All right you two, shut it. You ready to work?”

“Does this mean I’m being fired, Crowley?” Aziraphale looked thoroughly delighted at the prospect so Crowley played along.

“Fraid so, Mr. Fell. Just not a good fit, I’d say. Bad business to employ someone who can’t land a plane with his high-end computer.”

Aziraphale laughed while Warlock made retching sounds and mimicked gagging. “Get a room, God.”

Crowley shifted so he stood directly in front of Warlock and faced Aziraphale. He launched one booted foot back into the kid’s shin and smiled at the answering “Ouch!” when it landed. Not a subtle move, but an effective one.

“Before we let Mr. Fell go upstairs, wanna play the EVP session for us?” He shifted back to stand near Aziraphale again.

Warlock’s face lit up like he’d just been handed a pile of money, forgetting all about his abused leg. “Fuck yeah I did. It’s insane. You gotta let me put it on my Youtube channel.”

“Only if I think it’s good enough _and_ only if Mr. Fell agrees. It’s technically his audio.”

“I don’t see why it would be a problem, dear boy.”

“It’s wild, Mr. Fell. I don’t think anything like this has been captured before.”

Crowley looked at Adam; he knew the boy was a bit of a psychic-sensitive, maybe he even more so than Anathema. “You’ve heard it, Adam? Got any thoughts to add?”

Adam shifted uncomfortably. Usually, he was cheerful and outgoing, always taking the lead in most conversations and activities, but now he was unusually quiet. It was as though stepping into the shop had reversed his and Warlock’s personalities. “I listened. It…it’s disturbing.”

“Aw, you’re just not used to it yet.” Warlock put a comforting hand on his friends’ arm and shook it slightly. “It’s awful but that’s like, the best part!”

Crowley couldn’t help but notice even though his nephew’s words were less than empathetic, he was rubbing at the bare skin of Adam’s arm in small, soothing strokes with his thumb.

Ha! Warlock was in for some serious teasing tonight as payback for embarrassing him in front of Aziraphale.

He ushered the group out of the entryway into what he was beginning to think of as the sitting room. “We’ll listen first, decide later,” He said, sitting down on the sofa. Warlock took the space next to him while Adam folded himself into a cross-legged position on the floor. Aziraphale offered to bring out an extra chair but Adam waved him off.

Aziraphale settled into his own armchair while Warlock booted up his modified tablet and queued the audio file. Crowley hit play when everyone was ready.

_“Who are you? Do you have a name?”_ Crowley’s voice rang out clear as a bell.

A burst of static made everyone wince and Crowley figured that might be all Warlock had found. He’d have to tell him it was probably just a recorder glitch.

His mouth was half-open to do so when ambient noise came through the speakers. Voices murmured just out of the range of decipherability; the rustle of clothing easily identifiable.

The voice of a young woman gradually faded in until it felt as though she were standing right there next to everyone. It was the clearest audio Crowley had ever heard in his twenty-plus years of investigating.

> _“Mother, Father – I really wish you’d reconsider. He’s trying so hard to atone.”_

An older woman gave a humorless laugh _._

> _“_ _Simply impossible. Your brother has brought so much shame down on our family. If anyone finds out, we’ll be ostracized. He’s put our entire life in jeopardy with his sinful lust. As far as I’m concerned I no longer have a son.”_

Crowley looked up to Aziraphale and was surprised to find him gripping the arm of his chair hard enough he feared it might crack. He looked as though he wanted to vomit right there on his neatly polished shoes.

Crowley reached over and paused the recording. “Angel, you don’t look so good.”

“Play it.” Aziraphale’s jaw was clenched so tightly that Crowley had trouble understanding his words.

“But-“

“Do as I ask. Keep going.”

Crowley pressed play again.

> _“Mother, that’s not fair.”_ The girl sounded on the verge of pleading.
> 
> _“Are you saying you approve of his lifestyle?”_
> 
> _“Of course not, but it feels wrong to give up on him. Would God really want us to turn our backs instead of helping him back to the Holy path?_
> 
> _“Girl, I will hear no more of your stupidity.” A man’s voice now. “Your brother is an abomination and will stain everyone around him with his wicked ways. Look at yourself, already tempted into disobeying the Word of God to defend his intolerable existence. When we reach the retreat, I suggest you reflect seriously upon the state of your soul. It seems to be in a precarious positi-“_

A loud bang drowned out the rest of the man’s speech. The sound of a laboring engine filled the room, reminiscent of an airplane in trouble. Crowley couldn’t tear his eyes away from Aziraphale, who was now shaking on the edge of his seat, eyes glued to the audio waves on the screen. Pain and horror were etched into every line of his face.

> _“Sandelphon! What’s going on?!”_ The older woman was crying in terror. 

More sounds of mechanical distress came through, growing louder and more distorted by the second. There was another burst of sound, then the screaming started.

Three voices rose above the din of the dying engines.

> _The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want._
> 
> _He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters._
> 
> _He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake._
> 
> _Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me._

The last few seconds of audio was nothing but a chorus of screams and pleas for help.

_“Do you know you’re dead?_ ” The audio went back to Crowley’s questions. Warlock indicated that Crowley should stop the recording.

“I told you it was wild!” Warlock practically crowed. Crowley gave him a sharp slap to the back of the head, eyes still on Aziraphale.

“Angel? Are you okay?” He stood and moved hesitantly to Aziraphale’s side. “Do you recognize something there?” His hand stretched out to land gently on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Aziraphale shot up and away from Crowley as though he’d been burned. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Tears streaked his face, which had from gray to bone white. He backed away frantically, nearly tripping over Adam where he still sat on the floor.

“Angel–“ Crowley held out his hand, though he was too far away to stop him.

“No! No, I won’t! I can’t!” Aziraphale’s face twisted in anguish and fury. “Don’t ever bring that up again. Destroy it. Destroy the whole thing!” He sobbed and fled the room.

Moments later they all heard the door to his flat slam shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do realize I reversed Warlock and Adam here a bit. To make up for Adam not being the Anti-Christ here, I've made him psychic. You'll see it more next chapter but the shop makes him VERY uncomfortable. Warlock just annoyed the hell out of me on the show so I've made him less moody.   
> This fic keeps getting longer - I rewrote the outline after last week and it's a full two pages, so I can't even begin to tell you how many chapters this will be. I do have a clear path for the story so I hope you all enjoy it!


	9. It isn't an Ineffable Husbands fic if Adam doesn't levitate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, I made it back before two weeks (not by much but it still counts). This chapter was originally over 4,000 words and ended on a cliffhanger, so I broke it in half and still ended on a cliffhanger. Whoops! The good news is this means the next chapter is very nearly finished. This is great because my cat goes for surgery tomorrow but I should be able to post without delay since I just have to add a few scenes. 
> 
> Content warning: homophobia, mentions of conversion therapy and violence as possible punishment but no characters were actually subjected to this, discussion of dead family/unsupportive family

Crowley, Adam, and Warlock sat in stunned silence. Aziraphale did not give off the air of someone prone to hysterics (Crowley had meant it when he said it before) so the horrifying scene from the audio had to be real and very personal. He just didn’t know why.

“Uh, should we - ?” Adam asked hesitantly. Crowley didn’t blame him; he too didn’t want Aziraphale to go through whatever this was alone, but he also didn’t want to make matters worse.

“I’ll go talk to him in a bit. We’ll work down here for a while, let him calm down. And you,” He growled at his nephew. “I thought your mum and I taught you to be a better investigator than that.”

Warlock’s eyes widened. “What are you talking about? That was crazy awesome evidence!” He still looked far too proud of himself for Crowley’s liking. He was suddenly very glad he had the foresight to move the rug back over the powered circle before letting anyone in – Warlock would probably post pictures to Instagram.

“It was a fucked-up thing to do. You don’t just play something like that for a client when chances are they’ll have a connection to it!” Crowley was really having to control himself because all he wanted to do was shout. “You’re _always_ supposed to warn the clients before handing them the bad shit. If you’re not sure, you ask!”

“Sorry, Uncle A.J.,” Warlock mumbled, looking at his knees. “I didn’t think about it.”

The kid sounded contrite, and that made Crowley feel like a heel. “S’okay. Well, no it’s not but it’s not completely your fault. I fucked up along with you. I should've listened to it first.” He rubbed his forehead. “I was younger than you when I started doing this and I screwed up so many times. Your mum and I made sure you could learn from our mistakes, so try to remember the big stuff, yeah?”

Warlock nodded. Crowley glanced at Adam, who nodded as well. Might as well train everybody’s kids. 

His buzzing phone distracted him from giving the two junior investigators their orders for the evening.

“Tell me you didn’t touch that circle.” Anathema’s tightly wound voice crashed through the phone, loud enough to make him flinch. Her voice always sounded tightly wound but the offensive volume was new.

“If I tell you I didn’t, will you stop shouting?”

“Oops, sorry. I’ve been tracking a Lady in White through a forest and only just got a signal. I can barely hear anything over this river.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m not really sure." She paused, and Crowley could picture her spinning in a circle in the middle of the forest, witch-inspired skirts swirling around her ankles. "Somewhere in the Carpathian Mountains, though I can’t say for certain I’m even in Romania anymore. Huh.” 

Crowley barely restrained himself from knocking his head against the wall out of frustration. “Please tell me you aren’t out there alone.”

“Of course not,” Anathema scoffed. “I have Agnes with me.”

Somebody save him. “Nath, we’ve talked about this. Agnes is dead. Her book can’t guide you through every life decision. Your family’s money won’t always get you out of trouble [18].”

“Don’t let my mother hear you speak that way. Witches are notoriously good at brewing human stew when we want to.”

“I have no desire to cross your mum. How soon can you get to London?”

“No idea. Once I find a village I can let you know.”

“Are you really _that_ far out?”

“Yep. Agnes led me here though, and she’d never leave me someplace without resources. Agnes never fails me.”

Crowley grunted his displeasure. “I’ll take your word for it, but tell me the second you’re safe. You know anything about the circle or the markings?”

Anathema clicked her tongue, a sign she was thinking. “It’s hard to say from a picture but even I know it’s definitely a portal of some kind. Does it feel charged?”

“Oh yeah. It’s subtle until you focus on it, then it rattles your teeth.”

“Ignore it for now. I’ll get there as fast as I can but I’ll need to do research before we can dismantle it.”

“Thanks, Nath. Activity isn’t too serious yet but I’d rather we didn’t wait on this. I’ll let you go but don’t forget to check in.”

Crowley hung up and got to work.

* * *

Crowley sat in front of his laptop and Warlock stared at the tablet; they each had a group of cameras to watch, along with both keeping an eye on Adam as he wandered the darkened rooms of the shop. Crowley wanted him out there first to give them any psychic impression he picked up, so they might better form their EVP session questions.

Though leery of what they would catch the next time they spoke to the entity (or entities), it was still their best method for communication.

“This is not a nice place, guys.” Crowley could tell Adam was doing his best at coming across confident but he couldn’t quite keep the small tremor from his voice.

“Are you sensing something?” Warlock asked.

“I-I don’t know. It feels different.”

Crowley gave Adam a minute to elaborate but the boy kept silent. “Different how?”

“It’s…Look, I don’t talk to or see ghosts. Don’t ask me to talk to this thing ‘cause that’s not possible.”

“Okay, what _can_ you tell me?”

“Sometimes I can, uh, read objects, I guess? And spaces. That’s part of it anyway, but the other stuff isn’t helpful now. Mr. Fell should really consider moving.”

“Adam, I’m gonna need you to give me something to work with here. Anything.”

“I’m _trying_ , but it’s hard to describe. It’s like – it’s fifty-fifty. Half of this thing feels human and half…doesn’t.”

“Like a demon?”

“I don’t know. I don’t run into demons at school.”

“Ha ha. How do you know it’s not completely human then?”

“I just – do?”

Crowley ground his forehand into the palm of his hand. He had no idea what to believe. A truly demonic presence would be easy to identify, even to someone with Adam’s limited abilities. He didn’t think there was a way for demons to mix their essence or energy with regular spirits so that was probably off the table, as was a poltergeist. The description Adam gave matched a poltergeist bang on, but poltergeists were human creations manifested by intense emotions. Crowley had only ever heard of this kind of activity happening to young teenagers and traumatized young adults.

A poltergeist would explain Adam’s half and half explanation, and their haunting style fit the chaotic whirlwind of books he’d experienced, but they never took on a human shape (as far as he was aware) and the auditory evidence seemed a bit beyond a poltergeist’s capabilities. Aziraphale had reported no recent major life changes, nor did he display wild mood swings the way teenagers could.

Then there was the portal to consider. Perhaps an old spirit had always lurked in this shop, content to leave humanity in peace until the portal was opened and something less than savory came through. Crowley had hoped Adam would shed more light on the situation and instead they were left with more questions.

“Adam – you say you can read spaces, like in a psychic sense? The history of them?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

“I’m going to talk to Mr. Fell. While I’m gone Warlock will keep an eye on you, and I want you to spend time trying to see into this building’s past. Look for any tragedies or traumatic events if you can.”

“I’ll try, boss.”

* * *

Crowley found Aziraphale sitting on his sofa, blankly staring at the wall. Though he no longer appeared to be in distress, the distinct lack of emotion on his face worried him more.

“Aziraphale?” He asked in a quiet voice.

Aziraphale started, despite Crowley’s attempt at being gentle. “Hello, Crowley.” He gave a valiant attempt at a smile. “Come to see if I’m still a right disaster?”

“I’m sorry about that. I told Warlock to always warn a client when something we find could be considered…traumatic. It’s my fault more so because I didn’t double-check the audio in advance.”

“No, no, I don’t blame either of you. I would have reacted the same had I been told in advance. Honestly, I probably would have refused to listen at all.”

“Is it-? Ah, what I mean to say is, do you - ?” Crowley fidgeted. He really wasn’t used to struggling so much when interviewing a client. “I’m not trying to pry but it seems like the voices we caught are familiar to you.”

“They are. You know, I have imagined that very moment dozens of times, but I must say I failed to inject the proper amount of horror into the scene. I don’t know how I feel about that now.”

“Angel I’m so sorry, truly.”

“Don’t worry about it, my dear. I lived through it once already, I can do it again.”

“If I may ask, who - ?”

“My mother, father, and younger sister. I was told they were traveling to some kind of church retreat for the absurdly wealthy when they experienced mechanical problems. The plane went down an hour outside of their destination. I was twenty years old when I lost them all.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Crowley fidgeted again. “I haven’t asked you about or looked into the history of this building, but I don’t think I’ll need to after hearing, um, what we heard. Do you get the feeling it might be your family? Here, with you?”

Aziraphale got a faraway look in his eyes. “Tell me, did you always know your sexual identity, or have you ever questioned it?” 

Crowley was a bit disoriented by the abrupt subject changed, but he sensed Aziraphale would get there in his own way.

“Mmmm, not much. Always been attracted more to _who_ someone is rather than what bits they’ve got. Was the only thing I never actually questioned.”

“Even as a child, you knew?”

“Yeah, I guess. Wasn’t too concerned about it until I got older, ‘round the time I left home at sixteen.” 

“Your parents - were they understanding?” 

“Never found out. They were more interested in my ‘occult activities’ over who I might date. I think to them sexuality could be easily changed - a little conversion therapy here, a beating or two there. All just a phase that could be corrected.”

“Good lord, did they-?”

“Nah, never got that far. Like I said, they were more concerned with my interests in ghost hunting, witchcraft, devil worship. I left home before they could start in on who I was sleeping with.”

Aziraphale was quiet long enough for Crowley to prompt him. “I take it you had questions?”

“Yes. I didn’t have anyone to help me figure it out, not until I met Tracy. She never told my mother about her profession as a sex worker but she told me when I was 15. I thought it strange at first, I mean that’s not exactly something one shares with a child, but I realized later that she was letting me know I could come to her for advice. She knew my parents, knew going to them to talk meant the risk of being put out on the street.

I came out to them when I was in the year before they died. I’d been at Uni, studying theology and philosophy to appease them. It was interesting coursework but I still can’t tell you what I would have done with that degree.”

“You didn’t finish?” 

“No. I couldn’t keep up the farce any longer. It was my last year when I went and told them ‘I’m gayer than a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide’.” He looked to Crowley as though he expected him to laugh at the outburst, but Crowley couldn't do that. 

“They disowned me on the spot. My father spouted bible verses as I packed my things, while my mother wept and prayed for forgiveness for raising such an abominable son. Their reaction weighed so heavily on me that I began training for the priesthood.

Oh, I know, bit a left turn there, but I thought they might change their minds. Surely being gay wouldn’t matter if I’d given it all up to serve God, yes? Not to my parents. No, they refused to welcome me back in the family. Six months later they were dead. 

They lived hating me and now I know they died hating me. I have more money than I can spend in three lifetimes[19] and they’re buried in the family cemetery. I don’t think they would have waited so long to haunt me, so no, I do not believe the activity here can be attributed to my family.”

Crowley liked stories. He liked his job because it allowed him to hear so many different life stories from around the world, but often they did not end happily. Ghosts typically don’t stick around when they die under normal circumstances, you see. Aziraphale’s was not the worst story he had heard, not even in the top ten, but it felt personal this time.

“I’m sorry you had to relive those memories. If it makes you feel better, that may not have been their death scene at all – just a trick of whatever spirit is haunting the place. It may have learned your past by watching you. We’ll study the history of the building and those on this street, see what we can dig up there.

I finally heard back from Anathema and she is fairly certain the circle is, in fact, a portal, so whatever’s here also could have been summoned. Summoned spirits are typically more powerful than a regular ghost. It’s going to take some time for her to get here to figure it out. Did you hear from New-“

Crowley was interrupted by muffled shouting coming from downstairs.

He bolted up from his seat and raced out to the second-floor landing. The rug had been pulled away from the circle and Adam knelt next to it, one hand flat down on one of the symbols on the floor. Warlock was tugging at his arm frantically, calling his name over and over again.

“Adam, get away from there!” Crowley shouted, too far away to do much else. “Warlock-!”

Warlock was panting. “I’m trying but he won’t budge! _Adam_!”

But Adam would not (or could not) listen. Crowley felt more than saw Aziraphale hustle out of his flat, heard the sigh of relief he gave when he saw Adam standing up. “Goodness, what was he doing? I thought you covered it back up?”

Crowley was about to answer when Adam’s head lifted and tipped back, exposing his throat. His entire body went taut like a bowstring and began to rise from the floor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 18 Maybe Crowley would get her one of those personalized mantra page-a-day calendar deals to help her remember, though she'd probably just burn it for some kind of ritual spell. [return to text]
> 
> 19 One of my favorite lines in Prodigal Son is where Jessica is telling Gil how rich she is and says something like “I have more money than I can spend in two lifetimes.” I am shamelessly using that line (and adding a lifetime) because it tickles me so much. Also, go watch Prodigal Son. [return to text]


	10. It isn't an Ineffable Husbands fic if Aziraphale doesn't stomp all over Crowley's feelings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, sort of! I'm terribly sorry for the delayed chapter but the same night one cat had surgery, the other was diagnosed with ringworm. Do you know how much goes in to trying to cure ringworm? I've neglected writing for the past week in favor of deep cleaning my house every other day, trying to get liquid meds down a cat who weighs 15lbs, and getting up every two hours to make sure said cat leaves his cone of shame on. This could last for months so I'm afraid to say I won't be writing consistently over the next few weeks if this thing doesn't clear up fast (especially because it can spread to humans). The next chapter or two will be focused on heavy conversations and potentially awkward fluff so I don't want to write any of that while exhausted. 
> 
> This chapter is where we see the slightest bit of non-con in the form of a kiss and I have left a description of the scene in the end notes so you can scroll down if you want to check first. This chapter is important so I'll recap it in the next post, just in case. 
> 
> I can't thank each of you enough for every comment and kudo left - you've all been so wonderful! I promise to answer all comments when I can.

Adam was rising swiftly into the air as Crowley came thundering down the stairs. “Stop, _don’t_!” He shouted at Warlock, who had both hands outstretched as though he meant to grab on to Adam’s legs to pull him down.

Warlock’s face was a picture of anguish, but he did as Crowley told him. Crowley had to fight the urge himself when he got closer and realized Adam’s feet were dangling right in front of his nose. He was right there to grab on to, but the risk was just too great.

“We don’t know what will happen if we touch him. It might release him, we just need to wait a minute.”

Adam drifted into the sitting area, his head still thrown back, eyes open but rolled in their sockets. It was an ugly sight but at least the ceiling here was lower than the skylight; if Adam fell he wouldn’t suffer any major damage (Crowley hoped).

“What’s going on?” Warlock’s voice was laced with panic. “Is he possessed or something?”

Crowley put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “I don’t know. Possession isn’t as easy as the movies make it seem. This might have something to do with his psychic sensitivity; possession is a lot…” Crowley paused, trying to find the right word. “More.”

It was a lame way to finish his thought, but Crowley had seen footage of actual possessions and it wasn’t something he wanted to describe out loud. Whatever was happening to Adam didn’t fit the typical pattern he’d seen, but he wouldn’t rule it out.

They were watching Adam float along the ceiling when Crowley asked, “What were you two doing before this happened? Besides touching a powered circle that even a duck would have the common sense not to go near.”

“Doing what you asked – reading the history of the building. He didn’t tell me much but he said he was following a “thread”, of memories I guess, and kept walking over that spot. Said there was a message or clue there, so we moved the carpet.” Warlock’s eyes never left his friend as he replied.

Crowley bit back a growl. “If we get him down safely, I’ll save the lecture on how monumentally stupid that was for tomorrow.”

"Did you ever think maybe you should have told us before we found it?" Though he never raised his voice above a hushed whisper, the whip of cold fury now causing Warlock's voice to shake snapped against Crowley's senses. Shame and guilt gripped him tightly around the throat as he realized Warlock was absolutely correct.

He kept treating the pair as though they were seasoned investigators when in reality they were just a couple of kids who had the misfortune to grow up around a bunch of dysfunctional adults. If that wasn't bad enough, Crowley left them to their own devices without the entire story. 

The clearing of a throat behind them reminded Crowley that Aziraphale had followed him downstairs and had turned on several lights. “Shouldn’t – well, shouldn’t we be doing something to get the poor boy down?”

Crowley shook his head, shoving those dark, twisty feelings away for the time being. “Best not, angel. Don’t know what’s going on yet. If he starts to move to another area where we can't reach him, we’ll see if we can’t pull him down. This is probably the safest place for him.”

As those last few words left his lips, the back of Adam’s shirt was pulled as though caught on a fishhook. Adam’s body folded in on itself like a ragdoll as he was yanked forcefully backward, smashing right through the glass of the window before anyone could even begin to react.

Crowley found he couldn’t move as he stared in disbelief at the smashed up window. It was Raphael all over again; how did this keep happening to him?

A flash of movement at his side broke through his shock and he launched himself at Warlock, who had made to hurl himself after Adam through the window, arms locking around his shoulders to reel him back.

“The door – Warlock, go out the door!” Crowley may have been thin but he successfully man-handled Warlock around so he wouldn’t cut himself up on the broken glass still half hanging from the frame. 

It was a small miracle Adam landed on the sidewalk and not the street. Crowley expected a large crowd to have gathered around but no one was out and about this time of night (something he found highly unusual but he’d worry about it later). 

“Adam!” Crowley cradled the boy’s head in his hands after he knelt down beside him. Blood was trickling down his face in several places and he felt a large knot forming on the back of his head, sticky with more blood. Adam’s arm was bent up beneath him at an unnatural angle and Crowley knew at least one bone in there had to be broken. “Adam, can you hear me?”

“Mmmphf. ’d rather not.”

A bit of relief hit Crowley so hard it would have knocked him flat had he not already been on the ground. “Do you remember anything?” Adam struggled to sit upright but Warlock gently pushed him back down. Aziraphale conjured up a towel out of thin air and Crowley set about wiping away the blood to better see the gashes on Adam’s face.

“Not much. Found the markings on the floor...soon as I touched one there was a lot of static in my head... Couldn’t hear or see anything ‘til after I came through the window.” 

“You’re going to need stitches and several x-rays,” Crowley said, examining the wounds. Seeing Adam lying bloody like that was making Crowley feel nauseous and dizzy, the entire situation fucking up his emotions in ways he couldn't begin to describe. He knew it could have been so much worse but it had been a long time since he experienced an on the job accident. Once he got Warlock and Adam to safety, Crowley knew he would be headed toward Meltdown City. 

“I’m fine.” Adam was grousing, pushing Crowley’s hands away. “Head wounds always bleed real bad.”

“Oh, and where did you learn that?” _Keep cool, Crowley. Sarcasm is good._

“I read!”

“Read what?” 

“Graphic novels. And _New Aquarian Digest_.”

Adam pushed himself upright with his good arm and groaned pitifully. Crowley knew it was time to get him to a doctor and motioned for Warlock to take an arm. Together they hauled Adam up to stand as best as he could manage, trying to be mindful of possible damage they couldn't see. “Yeah, those don’t count. When you tell me you learned it from a medical textbook, _then_ I’ll believe you. Still need to get that arm looked at and you probably have a concussion.”

He fished around in his pocket and pulled out his keys. “Warlock,” He barked. “Take him to get patched up.” He slapped the keys into Warlock's chest to get his attention.

“Really? In the Bentley?” Warlock looked a little queasy. The Bentley could be…temperamental when she wanted to be. Crowley still couldn’t get The Best of Queen cassette unstuck from the tape deck. Hell, he couldn't even get the tape deck unstuck from the car itself (and oh how he tried). 

Even though Adam was fully leaning on Crowley, he still found the energy to protest some more. “No. No way! We’ll be there all night.”

“More like two days but you’re still going.” Crowley leveled his scariest glare at Warlock. He had to get them away from the shop before there were any more attacks. “If I find out you went anywhere other than A&E, I will drop you down a well and leave you there for a week.”

Crowley knew the locations of some secluded wells, and knew Warlock knew it too.

They both got Adam propped up the backseat of the car and then Crowley was crossing the street back to Aziraphale.

Once the boys were on their way, Crowley spun around to grip Aziraphale’s shoulder and damn near shouted in his face, “We are leaving. _Right now_ , Aziraphale.”

It took a moment for Aziraphale to register Crowley’s words, and when he did Crowley had never been more surprised about anything in his entire life. Aziraphale yanked on the thin fashionable scarf Crowley kept loosely tied around his neck to pull his head down slightly, then mashed their lips together.

It wasn’t a particularly pleasant kiss; Crowley was far too gobsmacked to respond and his hands flailed about in the air like a cartoon character, unsure of where they should land. Aziraphale didn’t seem too bothered by this, letting the scarf go to reach out and grasp Crowley’s wrists lightly, drawing them in so Crowley was forced to step closer and inadvertently deepen the kiss.

Some rational part of Crowley’s brain knew this wasn’t a good idea. They’d been through too much that night to make this kiss anything other than adrenaline and shared fear. Most likely it would be something Aziraphale regretted come morning and that was _not_ how Crowley had wanted their first kiss to go.

“Angel – stop, we gotta stop.” His head was thoroughly muddled but he forced himself to take two steps back and gently pulled his hands away from where they had been settled on Aziraphale’s chest.

Aziraphale didn’t let him go easily. “Don’t be ridiculous, my dear,” He murmured, leaning forward to chase Crowley as he tried to put some space between them. 

“’m not trying to be ridiculous.” Crowley caught Aziraphale’s hands with his own, bringing one up to his mouth to kiss his knuckles, a gesture he hoped would convey how very interested in this turn of events he was but not at that precise moment. “’m trying to be responsible.”

The only response to that was one perfectly arched eyebrow.

“Been through a lot tonight. I don’t want you to do anything you might…not really want,” Crowley clarified.

Aziraphale stepped back and finally looked at Crowley properly. The glow of the streetlamp made his face look harsh and unyielding. “Tell me, Crowley, is this really for my benefit? Or is this because of your shortcomings?”

“I- what?”

“Do you not like my appearance?”

“Bu- that’s not the iss-“

“What about my money? Hmmm?”

“Aziraphale, what are you tal-“

“Or is this all because you are still hung up on a dead man?”

Crowley jumped away from Aziraphale so quickly he almost sent himself tumbling into the street behind them. “ _Way_ the fuck out of line, Aziraphale. What the _hell_?”

Aziraphale’s face transformed from apathetic to horrified in the blink of an eye. “Oh my dear, I’m dreadfully sorry! I don’t know what came over me. That was absolutely unforgivable. You may be right about the stress of this night.”

Crowley glanced at the shop front behind Aziraphale. “I think we need to get away from here for a bit, go someplace for coffee or something a hell of a lot stronger.”

He would have suggested a place but Aziraphale was laughing, and it was an ugly, dark thing. “That is simply out of the question, how absurd. This is my home and I’m staying right here. You can go drink yourself into the gutter if you please.”

Crowley ignored the jab. “Angel, this isn’t something to play around with. Adam was _hurt_ \- next time it might be you.”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take. Besides,” Aziraphale looked down his nose at Crowley like he was nothing more than dirt on the bottom of his shoes. “The only way I’ll be hurt is if you continue to insert yourself into my life. This confirms you’ve made the situation worse. I can handle a few shadows and misplaced books but I will not be tormented with the delusions of a washed-up, old, television hack. I expect this shall end our little arrangement.”

“Something is off about this – can’t you feel it, Aziraphale? You’re not acting like yourself.”

“I very much am acting like myself. You’ve known me for all of three evenings, please do not flatter yourself. I reckon it was this kind of recklessness that got Raphael killed, was it not?”

The breath in Crowley’s lungs froze to ice. “Wha-what did you say?”

“He didn’t really want to go with you that night, did he.” It wasn’t a question. “No, he begged you to leave that lighthouse be, yes? You were forbidden to go out there but you just couldn’t stop asking questions. What were his last words, something pleading and heartbroken I suspect?”

Crowley reared back as though he’d been slapped, all reasonable thought fleeing from his brain. Aziraphale must have read a story about what happened and somehow knew the details well enough to taunt with them. “Well. Okay then. I’m going.” He began backing away from the shop, half tripping over the curb as he moved into the empty street. He wanted to be angry, wanted to hit Aziraphale at that moment but his arms were dead weights at his sides. “Right. I’ll send Warlock in the morning to pack up. If anything else happens, you know who not to call.”

He turned and stomped down the sidewalk, away from Soho and into Mayfair as fast as his long legs could carry him. Had he been thinking clearly he would have never left, but no one (not even Raphael’s parents) had blamed him for what happened. This was the first time someone voiced what Crowley felt about himself and it was burning up his brain, eating him alive as he fled. His skin felt tight as cold waves of revulsion shot down his spine.

How he made it to his flat in record time he could not remember, but he damn near crashed through the front door and careened blindly to his makeshift conservatory. Throwing himself down in front of the lectern of a church bombed in WWII, he curled into a ball and willed his brain to stop time.

Okay, Crowley didn’t actually stop time, but it was fun to refer to it that way. All he really did was count down from five and then force his mind to go blank. He didn’t focus on anything, not even breathing, which was why he referred to it as ‘stopping time’. The world around him disappeared for however long it took to process intense emotions. It probably wasn’t healthy but it worked.

Gradually, Crowley came back to himself and allowed small thoughts to launch themselves out into the abyss:

> He had only known Aziraphale for three days.
> 
> Aziraphale had never shown one moment of unkindness since they’d met.
> 
> Aziraphale _had_ said the investigation might be making things worse, so it was possible he meant some of his parting speech.
> 
> He’d looked genuinely sorry when he apologized.

Crowley sat up slowly and rested his back against the base of the lectern. He didn’t know why he bought it at an auction, and he didn’t know why it hadn’t been placed in another church after it had been rescued from the rubble, but he felt at peace with it around.

The peace he felt sitting there allowed more thoughts to form.

> Aziraphale had been beaten down by life at an early age, yet found the courage and strength to live his life as he saw fit. Though by all rights he should be bitter and angry, he was neither of those things.
> 
> He would be the last person to use one’s past against them so cruelly.
> 
> Right.

Crowley was an idiot and he needed to get back to that bookshop. Maybe they had only known each other three days but his instincts were screaming at him that something wasn’t right. He’d drag Aziraphale out kicking and screaming if he had to, but there was no way he could be left at the mercy of whatever creature that had taken his mind.

Luckily his rideshare app showed a car nearby, so he didn’t have to wait more than a few minutes to be on his way to Soho. Crowley’s anxiety rose as each minute passed, doubling down on his gut feeling that the spirit wanted him out of the way for some reason.

As they turned the final corner and the shop came into view, his suspicions were confirmed. Crowley’s driver slammed on their brakes in the middle of the street, leaving both of them to gape open-mouthed at the inky black smoke billowing from the broken window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Aziraphale catches Crowley in a surprise kiss after they send Warlock and Adam away. It's not exactly pleasant for Crowley, as he thinks it might be due to adrenaline and not actual interest on Aziraphale's part. He also realizes Aziraphale is being influenced by something, so technically the kiss is non-con for both of them in a way. It only lasts a second and nothing like this takes place again.


	11. It isn't an Ineffable Husbands fic if Aziraphale isn't scandalized by Crowley's choice in clothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To refresh your memory:  
> Adam and Warlock come to the shop to help Crowley investigate. While Crowley and Aziraphale are talking, Adam finds the hidden circle and touches it. He's then launched through the shop's front window and is taken to get patched up by Warlock. Aziraphale kisses Crowley, but when Crowley puts a stop to it Aziraphale insults him, so much so that he leaves even though he thinks something is wrong. After calming down in his flat, Crowley goes back to the shop to find smoke pouring out the broken window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't change the channel, folks - we're back! I know it's been a month but it's been a terrible one that just wouldn't let me write. My cat who had surgery was doing wonderfully but caught a respiratory infection and we lost him last week. The cat with ringworm was misdiagnosed and has some type of unknown allergy. I'm pretty sure I had a week-long panic attack where I just shut down. I'm also trying to buy a house which is an insane process and the market where I live is crazy competitive. 
> 
> I think I'll be able to go back to once a week updates. I was afraid I'd be uninspired trying to write again but this was surprisingly easy! I hope you enjoy it and I promise over the next week I will respond to all of your wonderfully supportive comments from previous chapters. Have an extra long chapter to make for the absence.

Crowley shouted at the driver to call for emergency services as he practically fell out of the car, his rubbery legs struggling to work properly as he sprinted to the burning building. Except for himself, the streets were empty and no one seemed to be aware of the thick smoke streaming out into the night. The impossibility of this fact crossed his mind but finding Aziraphale was more important than the mysterious sleepiness of the streets of Soho.

“ _Aziraphale_!” Crowley yelled as he banged on the front doors with both fists. He snatched at the door handle, certain Aziraphale would have locked up after their fight, and was nearly knocked dizzy with relief as it turned easily in his sweaty grasp. He realized belatedly he should have checked the knob’s temperature before blindly grabbing it but luckily the metal was as cool as ever.

Was that good? Did it mean all the fire was upstairs in Aziraphale’s flat? If so, how was so much smoke billowing through the downstairs window?

The foyer was hazy and dark as he barreled through the door, and Crowley was grateful he’d taken to not wearing his sunglasses while at the shop. It was a ridiculous fashion statement at best but one he’d grown used to hiding behind, though it often did hinder his eyesight to an unfortunate degree. If he’d been wearing them now he possibly would have missed the human-shaped outline lying at the foot of the staircase as he stumbled deeper into the shop. Slowly he calmed as he saw no fire anywhere on the first floor, and felt no heat coming from above. Perhaps it was an electrical thing, still caught in the walls. Crowley didn’t much care what it was as long as he could get Aziraphale out quickly and in relative safety.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley found himself falling to his knees for the second time in the space of a few hours. “Angel, are you hurt?”

Aziraphale groaned in response, much as Adam did when they rushed to check on him on the sidewalk.

“We’ve got to get you out of here – can you stand?” Crowley didn’t want to push him too hard in case he was injured, but burning to death seemed like a worse fate than jarring Aziraphale in his current state.

“Yes,” Came the slightly breathless response. “I was – trying to make it outside and – took a slight tumble off the last few steps.” He placed one hand beneath his body and allowed Crowley to bear some of his weight as he pushed up from the floor.

“Normally I’d tell you to take it slow but no time for that,” Crowley said as he forced Aziraphale to keep moving until he was standing. They were close enough to the same height so it wasn’t difficult to sling Aziraphale’s arm over his shoulders and lead him outside. Everything was dead silent when they finally made it to the sidewalk; no sirens wailing in the quiet night, and Crowley saw his rideshare was no longer in the middle of the street. It wasn’t anywhere, in fact.

“Fucking humanity,” Crowley growled as he lowered Aziraphale down to sit on the curb. He started to dig around for his phone when he spotted two police officers making their way up the street.

“Oi!” He cried out, waving his arms. “Fire! Fire here!”

The officers waved back but didn’t speed up their merry amble. As they took their sweet time Crowley dubbed them Tweedledee and Tweedledum in his mind, because no one with half a brain would act so cavalier over potential danger.

“Good evenin’, Sir. Got a call ‘bout a fire up this way.” The taller one, Tweedledee, said.

“Uh yeah, I asked someone to call.” Crowley couldn’t help but be dumbfounded by their nonchalance. “Usually they send firefighters for this.”

Tweedledum grunted. “Lotta false alarms ‘round here lately. Calls are routed to us an’ we check ‘em first.”

Several unintelligible noises escaped Crowley’s throat in rapid succession, before he replied, “No – no false alarms here. Just a fire.” He turned to Aziraphale. “Aziraphale, tell them. You were in there.”

Tweedledee ignored them and glanced at the building. “Doesn’t look like a fire. Looks like smoke.”

Crowley was going to jail.

He was going to get locked away for murder and he wouldn’t mind one bit.

Through gritted teeth, he said, “Yes, but that’s typically a bad sign. Almost a prelude to fire.”

“Eh, not a lot smoke innit?” He gestured to his partner. “Whatchu think?”

“Nah, hardly any smoke at all.”

Crowley gaped at them and rounded to point at the window, but stopped in his tracks. Where giant plumes were escaping earlier, just the smallest trickle of smoke eked through the top of the broken window.

“But, but,” Crowley stuttered uselessly. “It was almost flaming like anything!”

Tweedledum gave him a mocking smile. “Not the only thing ‘round here flaming like anything.” The pair then had the audacity to snigger like idiots.

“If you’re not gonna call someone, I’ll do it my damn self.” Crowley brandished his phone in their faces.

“Sir,” Tweedledee coughed and attempted to reign in his homophobic mirth. “How much have you had to drink t’night?”

“ _Nothing_.” Crowley couldn’t keep the stress from his voice. “No drinking, no drugs – just a _fire_.”

“Right, right, calm down then. I ask because you’ve quite a broken window there. Want to tell me how that happened?”

They were seriously going to let the building burn down. Crowley ignored Tweedledee’s stupid question and opened his phone, beginning to dial.

“Sir? Fine, have it your way. We’ll go take a look if it’ll make you feel better, ‘kay?”

Crowley wasn’t appeased in the slightest but if they went inside they might at least find the fire and call for help faster than Crowley could. He nodded and they went inside.

He spent the next few minutes trying to coax the story from Aziraphale but he refused to answer, staring dazedly at nothing in particular as Crowley gently shook his arm.

Officers Dee and Dum came back five minutes later, shaking their heads and rolling their eyes. 

“Sir, there’s no fire in there. Both floors are clear. Can’t even tell there was any smoke at all. Probably just dust on one of the lights.”

This night kept getting better and better.

“Now we need to discuss this broken window. You can’t leave it like this, issa violation.”

“What, someone breaks the window and somehow we’re at fault?” If Crowley had a better memory he'd memorize their actual names and complain later. 

“You saying this is vandalism? Robbery gone wrong or somethin’, probably how your “fire” got started. Would ya like to make a report?”

That woke Aziraphale up from his stupor on the curb. He clamored to his feet. “No, no officer. That won’t be necessary, it was an accident.” He placed a gentle hand on Crowley’s arm like he hadn’t verbally destroyed him less than an hour before. “We’ll take care of it. It seems there is no fire now but I’ll have an inspector come in the morning to see that everything is fine.” He smiled politely and thanked the pair for their help.

Crowley found himself being tugged along through the shop doors and straight up the stairs to Aziraphale’s flat.

“Aziraphale, what in the blazes was that?” Crowley slashed a hand through the air. “No, you know what? I don’t care. I just do not care. Pack a bag because we’re leaving. Both of us, and we’re not coming back until Anathema and Newt get here.”

Aziraphale stared at him for a moment and then nodded. “Right, yes. That’s a sound idea.” He then hustled off toward the bedroom before Crowley could respond.

Left alone, he looked around the living space to find anything Aziraphale might want to bring with him. A tablet and mobile were laying on the coffee table so Crowley snatched them up, along with a book that appeared to be written in French. A cold cup of cocoa was congealing in a delicate-looking cup and Crowley walked it over to the sink to rinse out.

Aziraphale hurried back into the room after twenty minutes. “I’ve called Arthur – he’s got someone coming to fix the window and is bringing the car around; I’ve told him you’ll give him the address once we’ve met him.”

“Arthur?”

“Oh, my driver. I pay him to be on call for most of the week.” He stopped, looking bewildered. “You know, this is the first time I’ve had an emergency and actually needed his services after hours. Goodness.”

“Breathe, Aziraphale. You can have a meltdown in my flat, okay? Is Arthur almost here?”

The sound of a car honking outside startled them both. Aziraphale put his gadgets in his bag and then they were heading outside, where a small black limo waited by the curb. If Crowley hadn't been carrying breakable items in his hands he would have flailed. 

"A limo?! Who has a freaking _limo_? Is that _your_ limo?" He'd been in one before but never sober. 

Aziraphale sniffed haughtily. "It's the family car, and it's not full-size. I've always gotten terrible pleasure using it for things my parents would have disapproved of." 

Crowley was more than tempted to ask what those things might be but figured that was a conversation for another time. They got in the back and Crowley tried not to marvel at how nice it was. Despite it not being full-size, it still had enough room to fit five or six people comfortably and smelled of rich leather. There was a small telly tucked away in the corner and minibar beneath it. 

Aziraphale pushed a hidden button above his head. "Arthur? We're ready to leave. I assume the work truck parked in front of Oscar's is for the window?"

A light, unidentifiably-accented voice replied, "Yes, Mr. Fell. I'll return after dropping you to oversee the repairs."

"Very good, thank you." Aziraphale motioned to Crowley. "Where would you like to go, dear boy?" 

Crowley was still gobsmacked by the whole limo experience and did nothing but stare into Aziraphale's dark blue eyes for a full minute. "Um. My place seems like the best place. Right now. Uh." He gave succinct directions to the unseen intercom and then they were off. 

They rode in silence until Arthur's voice returned and informed them they had arrived. 

* * *

Then the front door closed behind Crowley’s back with an especially loud click and they were alone. He stayed pressed against the door and very carefully tried not to have a panic attack as Aziraphale ventured into the living area, his bag clutched in front of his stomach like a shield.

_Shit, shit, shit._

It was rapidly dawning on Crowley that the last thing Aziraphale said to him before the not-fire was to get lost and never come back; now they were standing in Crowley’s spacious but sparse flat because Crowley wouldn’t take no for an answer and pretty much forced Aziraphale to come stay with him.

For an untold number of days.

Where there was only one bed.

Double shit, triple shit, _all the shit_.

He was still 99.9% sure the harsh words coming out of Aziraphale’s mouth were not his own, but there was still that slim chance they had been meant and Aziraphale had only come with him to mock him some more. The thought kept Crowley’s eyes glued to the safety of the floor. He could just see Aziraphale shifting around the room out of the corner of his eye and tensed when that cream and tan blur finally turned in his direction.

“Crowley – ” Aziraphale began, but Crowley’s phone vibrated in his pocket and he swore his heart stopped for a good four beats. Chrissake, he had to get ahold of himself before he peed on the floor like a frightened dog.

His voice was surprisingly steady as he interrupted Aziraphale. “Sorry an- ah, Aziraphale. Gotta check this, one sec.”

Aziraphale shut his mouth, looking mildly peeved. Crowley refrained from smirking but only just; it served him right if he really had meant all those horrible things he’d said. Checking his phone, he saw a few new texts from Anathema.

“Good news, angel,” Crowley let the nickname slide past his lips absently. “Nath will be back in two days. You wanna call Newt and force him down here?”

“Oh, oh yes I didn’t mention it earlier but Newt called and left a message. He said the earliest he could visit is in three days. Will that give your Anathema time to do her research?”

Crowley thought it over. “Think so, yeah. Should be enough to get her started anyway, and won’t let her spin her wheels too long waiting for Newt to show.” He shot Anathema a quick message confirming Newt’s presence the day after she arrived, then texted Warlock about Adam. He found himself heading for the kitchen; this whole situation called for alcohol. 

“Crowley, wait – ” Aizraphale tried once more but Crowley kept walking. Call him a coward but he had no desire to face this chat without a few tumblers of really expensive scotch. He snagged two glasses, then raided his very fancy and completely unnecessary liquor cabinet for his equally unnecessary and expensive bottle of single malt. Pouring a few very healthy fingers into the glasses, he shoved one over to Aziraphale.

“Drink.” He instructed.

Crowley slammed his back in one gulp, a display he figured would be offensive to anyone who pretended to appreciate booze as anything but what it was – an excellent way to get drunk and forget problems.

Aziraphale must have been one of those people, because he merely took a decent sip and set the glass back on the counter. Crowley grimaced poured himself another glass.

“Okay, talk.” Even to his own ears his voice sounded overly harsh, like he was already preparing for a fight.

“Crowley, I need to apologize to you.”

“And?”

Aziraphale’s resolve faltered at that; apparently he wasn’t expecting Crowley to be so combative (though to be fair, Crowley hadn’t expected it from himself either).

Fuck, what was he doing? Hiding his feelings was his superpower. No matter how much Crowley was hurting, he took great, twisted pride in never letting anyone else see how affected he was.

“I deserve that. I’m not…not quite certain what actually happened.”

Crowley jumped on those words. “Wait, are you saying you weren’t in control of yourself? Do you remember everything?”

The pained expression transforming Aziraphale’s face made the scotch burn like fire in Crowley’s stomach and he idly wondered what would happened if he retched all over the sparkly black quartz countertop.

“No - and yes?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, waiting. If he opened his mouth all of that terribly expensive alcohol really would come out in a whoosh of emotion and adrenaline. Roger Murtaugh had it right: he was too old for this shit.

“I’m aware that doesn’t make much sense. First of all, I do remember everything.” Aziraphale sighed, pushed his glass away, and sat down at the small table Crowley kept in the breakfast nook more for appearances rather than use. “On some level I did mean those things. You see, before you came to investigate, to help me, I wasn’t experiencing much more than some uneasiness. In case you haven’t noticed, I have a tendency to be dreadfully boring. It doesn’t appeal to most but I like the certainty of my daily routine, of knowing nothing too interesting it is going to disrupt my life. If I want to spice things up I’ll plan to do it my own way.”

“And then I showed up and the activity kicked into high gear.”

“Quite.” One side of Aziraphale’s mouth kicked up in a smile but there was none of his usual warmth behind it. “So yes, when you came along and suddenly my books are flying about my shop, I did think how much more peaceful things were before. I won’t apologize for those thoughts but I am so deeply sorry they were spat at you with such venom. Despite all the chaos, I – I’m very glad we met.”

Before Crowley could react, Aziraphale took a fortifying breath and hunched over the table in discomfort.

“I’m also unbearably sorry for the other things I said. I assure you those – those were _not_ my thoughts, at all.”

Something about the way Aziraphale looked as he said that last bit made Crowley doubt his claim. After years of sweet-talking his way out of sticky situations, Crowley had gotten pretty good at reading other liars and Aziraphale wasn’t being truthful. “So why did you say any of it?”

“That I can’t tell you. It just came rushing out before I could stop it, and it came in the most horrible way. Even if I were ever rude enough to… well, I would have never said it the way I did. It was me…and not me. I’m sure you think I’m lying to save face but I would never want to hurt you on purpose. I didn’t even think to get the window fixed until you came back. That can’t be normal, can it?”

Crowley finally let his arms uncross, too tired to keep up the appearance of being angry, and sat down in the other chair at the table. “I believe you.” Not completely, but enough.

Aziraphale was the picture of surprise, so much so that Crowley couldn’t help his own quiet laugh. 

“It sounds like you weren’t possessed, because you still remember everything and those thoughts were your own at one point, but I do think you were being influenced. S’why I came back.”

“What do you mean, ‘influenced’?”

“Means we’re not dealing with a demon, ‘cause they’re much more powerful, but we’re not dealing with your standard spook. Whatever this is is strong enough to poke at your insecurities and nasty human thoughts until you crack, but it can’t force you to say or do stuff. You would have been so focused on your feelings it made you forget about the window.” Crowley rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “I guess I felt it the first night I stayed at the shop.”

“You didn’t say anything!” Aziraphale accused.

“Yeah, because I wasn’t sure if it was me or not! Thought it might be a panic attack from being out of the game so long.”

“I forgive you,” Aziraphale’s small smile was much more genuine than his last. “If you can forgive me.” 

Crowley shrugged. “Nothing to forgive, yeah?”

“Agreed.” Aziraphale caught sight of the clock on his microwave. “Goodness, is that the time? When did it get so late – you must be exhausted. Point me to the bathroom and the sofa and I’ll let you get some rest.”

Crowley made a disgruntled noise. “Not putting you on the sofa, angel. Bed is all yours, cleans sheets and everything."

“Nonsense, my dear. I’m not throwing you out of your own bed, especially after a night like we’ve had.”

“Oh yes you will, because I insist. If you don’t take the bed I’ll un-forgive you.”

Aziraphale’s gasp was comically affronted. “You really are a foul fiend. I suppose I have no choice now, do I?”

“Nope.” Crowley stood and motioned to his kitchen. “Might as well take the tour. Anything in the kitchen you want, feel free. Takeaway is my specialty but I think I’ve got some a few unexpired boxes of…food.” He opened a cupboard door. “Tea’s in here.”

Aziraphale grabbed his bag and followed Crowley down a short hallway to his bedroom. “Bathroom’s attached so no worries about hunting for it. Let me grab my things and set out some towels for you.”

While Crowley gathered up what he’d need for the night, Aziraphale raised his voice to keep talking. “I find it odd a place like this only has one bed.”

“Uh, yeah it came with two but I may have converted one. Knocked down a few walls for my plants. Probably have to fix it if I ever sell – one bed, two baths sounds weird.”

“You have plants?”

Crowley nodded. “That’s splendid! I very much want to see them.”

“Sure thing angel, but only after you’ve gotten some rest.”

“Yes, alright then,” Aziraphale conceded. “But tomorrow I will find a suitable hotel to stay in until Anathema and Newt arrive. I can’t bring myself to inconvenience you more than this.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t have brought you here if it were a bother.” He picked his next words carefully. “I understand if you want to go to a hotel, but I’d like it if you considered staying here. Can keep an eye on you better.”

“Offering yourself up as my protector may not be a wise idea.”

“Pshaw, s’not so hard. Dragging you from a building that isn’t burning, I can handle that.”

They grinned at one another.

Crowley cleared his throat. “Um, yep, I’ll just leave you to it. Shout if you need anything.”

He left before he could do anything stupid, like ask Aziraphale why he kissed him. If he’d been influenced by the spirit, did that mean he’d thought about it? That kind of thinking wouldn’t do him any good but it wouldn’t leave him alone as he brushed his teeth and changed into the only modest pajamas he owned, red satin that were just the tiniest bit too snug.

Going back to the living room, he stopped as he found Aziraphale standing next to the sofa, wearing the most ridiculous tartan pajamas he’d ever seen.

“Oh good lord,” Aziraphale muttered just loud enough to be heard, and Crowley cheered in his head over choosing the right sleepwear.

“Crowley, I-I lied to you earlier. It will be impossible to sleep if I don’t confess.”

Crowley gestured to his sofa in an invitation to sit. “Confess away, angel.”


	12. It isn't an Ineffable Husbands fic if Aziraphale doesn't lie about his feelings

Aziraphale took a steadying breath and shuffled over to Crowley’s absurdly uncomfortable white leather sofa, eyes darting here and there in uncharacteristic nervousness. He settled himself on the edge of the cushion farthest from where Crowley was standing, so Crowley took the cue and very carefully did not allow himself to affect his usual sprawl on his side of the divide.

Aziraphale was silent for perhaps a minute, his fingers clenching repetitively on his thighs. At last, he opened his mouth. “I don't know where to start. I mean…I’m not…this is - ?”

Crowley took the lead. “Let's tackle this one bit at a time. What did you think you lied about?”

Aziraphale nodded at Crowley’s prompting. “I lied when I said I don't know why I commented on...on your past. With Raphael.”

“Okay. So you have an idea why you were influenced to say those things?” Crowley suspected something was off with Aziraphale’s apology earlier but he couldn’t imagine what he could have to lie about Raphael. 

“I think so, yes. I truly didn't mean any of it but I guess it came from an ugly...jealous place.” 

Crowley tried very hard not to fall off his sofa in surprise and only just managed it. "I, uh, what?" 

Though Aziraphale wouldn’t look at him, he could see the brief twist of his lips, the hint of red staining his cheeks.

“Ah, yes, well this is the embarrassing part. Ever since we spoke that first time at the restaurant I've found myself rather a-attracted to you. I was tempted to act on it but then you mentioned Raphael and I thought perhaps any interest would be unwelcome.

I watched the show. I saw how much chemistry the pair of you shared and when you called him your partner, I got the impression that it wasn’t all business for you. I suppose on some level I was upset because it was possible he once held your heart and may still do so. I learned the hard way death tends to amplify emotions beyond rationality.” Aziraphale's eyes were glued to the floor, which Crowley was grateful for as he processed several emotions at once.

Guilt

Hope

Annoyance

Understanding

The awkward embarrassment of discussing relationships over the age of 40 because shouldn’t they be past all this nonsense? 

Crowley cleared his throat, floundering for something to say that made any kind of sense. "I wish you'd said something." 

Aziraphale shook his head fiercely. “Goodness no, that would have been inappropriate. You've barely had time to grieve, not to mention you’re helping me in a professional capacity.” 

Crowley steeled himself for a conversation he truly never imagined having with someone, especially not someone he’d only known for less than a week. Not someone he had an interest in.

“Was my fault.”

Aziraphale did look at him then, eyebrows arched in confusion. “What was, my dear?”

“Raphael. His death. Angel, I killed him.” Now it was Crowley’s turn to look away from Aziraphale. He didn’t want to see the judgment on his face once Crowley told the whole story.

“You’ll have to forgive me one more intrusion but I did find a news article about his death. They said it was an accident.” Aziraphale’s voice was softer than Crowley deserved.

“The stair giving way beneath him might’ve been an accident but I pushed him that night."

Aziraphale made a slight squawking noise and Crowley rushed ahead. "Uh, I mean, not literally. Told him we needed more answers to help a client. The old lighthouse was connected to the family we were helping and I needed to know if anything was out there. There were too many questions, ya know? Except it was an old place and it was raining, and the stone steps were crumbling in places we couldn’t see. One minute I’m hounding him to stop griping and the next I hear him screaming as he fell. It happened so _fast_.

He was the best part of the show. In some ways, he was the best part of me. He fell from that lighthouse because I wasn’t satisfied with what I had. I wanted things to be bigger and better. More attention for the show, more attention for us, more for…me.”

“Did you ever tell him you were in love with him?” None of the jealousy Aziraphale proclaimed to feel colored his voice, only curiosity.

“I wasn’t. It wasn’t like that,” Crowley denied on autopilot.

Aziraphale merely watched him steadily.

“Fine. In the beginning it was like that. For me, but just me.”

“Did you talk about it with him?”

Crowley snorted. “He knew. Wasn’t good at hiding it. Got drunk one night on location and it came up. He said it’d ruin the show, maybe our friendship if things went south. I agreed. He said maybe once the show was over we could try, if we wanted to.”

“Well, that was a very shitty thing for him to say,” Aziraphale said with a scowl.

“No - don’t say that. It wasn’t. He was being nice.” It was still a reflex to defend Raphael as well.

“He was stringing you along.” Aziraphale squared his shoulders in what Crowley would only describe as righteous indignation. He started feeling a little bit of that himself at the turn of this conversation.

“It’s not like I sat around waiting for him! I had other relationships. A lot of them, in fact.” Crowley had _not_ been a lovesick puppy and would be damned if he let Aziraphale think it.

But Aziraphale was shaking his head, clearly dismissive of Crowley’s assertion. “And how many of them failed because his words were in the back of your mind, hmm? No Crowley, decent people don’t say things like that.”

“That’s not fair. He’s not even here to defend himself.”

Aziraphale waved his hand, as though he were washing away the topic altogether. “I ought to be going to bed. I didn’t mean to cause more trouble. I just wanted to explain and I hope you can forgive me.” He didn’t sound very sorry anymore.

Crowley sat rigid on the sofa, not watching as Aziraphale made his way down the hall. This was precisely why he’d only seen a therapist once after Raphael’s death, because they too twisted their relationship around into something toxic.

They were right of course, but Crowley hated it. He hated strangers hearing their story once and immediately seeing what had taken him years to realize. Figuring out you’d spent so much time pining after someone incapable of emotional maturity or commitment was a nausea-inducing revelation. It made him never want to get out of bed again if he examined it too closely. 

“Ah, fuck me.” Crowley stood and headed for the bedroom. The door was wide open but he still knocked on the doorframe to announce his presence.

Aziraphale was sitting up against the headboard with his delicate golden glasses perched on the end of his nose, the bedspread tugged up to this waist and a thick book in his hands. The sight did funny things to Crowley’s stomach and he resisted the urge to back away from the door, run out the front door of his flat. 

Aziraphale didn’t respond out loud to Crowley’s knock but inclined his head as permission to come in.

Crowley sighed and sat on the foot of the bed. “’m not still grieving.”

“Dear boy, I’m not so certain that’s true.”

“Think I bloody well know myself at this point in life, Aziraphale. The guilt – it just eats at me. I know what he said was wrong and I know he was damned awful at thinking of other people’s feelings, but it’s still not easy to admit. No, if I'm honest with myself I'm not grieving. Raphael is gone and...and it's almost a relief. God, I'm an awful person for that. But I caused his death. It was my fault and I can't seem to move on…even when the attraction between us isn’t one-sided.”

Aziraphale moved the bedspread aside and slid down the bed to sit next to Crowley, reaching out one hand to cover Crowley’s where it gripped the edge of the mattress. 

"My dear, I think we've both been rather stupid. Raphael’s death is not your fault and you know that. He was a grown man who made the decision to go with you that night, and what happened was the most unfortunate accident. He knew the risks and could have said no. 

And if I had not assumed to know your feelings based on one brief chat, then perhaps those horrid things I said would never have even existed. It caused you undue pain. I’m not quite certain what will happen with my situation but I would very much enjoy keeping your company. As friends.”

Crowley pried his fingers loose from the mattress and flipped his hand so that their palms met. “Just friends?”

After a half a minute of letting Aziraphale open and close his mouth like a fish out of water, Crowley finally took pity on him and 

Aziraphale pulled his hand from Crowley’s and scooted back to lean against the headboard again, arms crossing in feigned indignation. “And they call me a bastard.” His tone was outraged but eyes did that endearing twinkling thing.

“Take it as a compliment,” Crowley said as he got to his feet. “Best be gettin’ to bed. We can talk more tomorrow, yeah? Night, angel.”

Aziraphale was almost too quiet so when Crowley reached the doorway he glanced back. “Alright, angel?”

“Ah, I suppose so…” Aziraphale hesitated. “But…”

“Buuuut - ?” Crowley drawled.

“Well, I…would it be too much trouble to ask you…to stay…here?”

Crowley’s arm slipped slightly where it rested against the wood and he nearly banged his head against the wall. “Uh, you mean with you?”

Aziraphale tried to smile. “I’d like to read for a while, settle my nerves you see, but the thought of being alone – today was very _trying_. Would you mind terribly?”

Crowley’s brain was still catching up. “Like, like a sleepover? Eraughuhhm sure, I can do that.”

Despite his hemming and hawing, Aziraphale seemed quite pleased and patted the empty space on the bed beside him. “Good. This way I don’t have to feel guilty about putting you on that awful sofa.”

“What’s wrong with my sofa?” Crowley asked while sliding between the bedsheets, feeling awkward.

“I’ve only seen some of your flat but you seem to favor fashion over functionality. That is not a sofa conducive to napping,” Aziraphale said primly.

“Oi, like your sofa’s any more comfortable than mine?” Crowley groused, pulling the bedspread up around his shoulders.

Aziraphale hummed. “The _shop_ sofa isn’t supposed to be, it’s meant to discourage customers from lingering too long.”

“Honestly angel, you might as well call them intruders at this point.”

“What makes you think I don’t?”

Crowley rolled over so he could stare up at Aziraphale. Aziraphale gave him a coy smile, flipping his book back to the page he bookmarked. “Go to sleep, my dear. We’ll have plenty of time over the next few days to discuss furniture.”

He turned away but instead of going to sleep as Aziraphale suggested, Crowley stayed awake wondering what fate had in store for him next. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I want to thank you all again for so many lovely comments and encouragement. What a ridiculous year this has been. I think there may be another month gap between this chapter and the next. It's mostly because I want to write fluffy domesticity and that's what I struggle most with as an aro-y/ace-ish person. Hell, I struggled with this chapter, but these two deserve a little softness. I really do appreciate all the writers in this fandom for the fluff and porn they provide. I'm hoping the writing will come a little easier once I power through the relationship building. 
> 
> I hope this didn't come across as too stilted, but part of me also feels like it fits the characters to be kinda awkward and weird about relationships. And hey at least this time I didn't end on a cliffhanger!


	13. Brief Interlude and Update

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, before any of you dear readers get your hopes up, this isn't a chapter. YET! I'm in the middle of writing the next one and it's heading toward 4,000 words right now. Probably way more than that. It'll be a (not so) small snapshot of Aziraphale and Crowley's time together as they wait for Anathema to arrive. I've said before interactions like this are hard for me to make believable, as I as a human being am not very believable. 
> 
> So what am I giving you? A list of books similar to the theme of this story, of course! Some of these I have read and some I haven't. Think of it as an apology for being gone for so long! I wish AO3 had a 'let your subscribers know you aren't dead and this work isn't abandoned' feature.

“It was just a book. No harm ever came from reading a book!”

1\. [Ellie Jordan, Ghost Trapper](https://www.amazon.com/Ellie-Jordan-Ghost-Trapper-Bryan-ebook/dp/B00NO4S94I) series by JL Bryan 

_Ellie Jordan’s job is to catch and remove unwanted ghosts. Part detective, part paranormal exterminator, Ellie operates out of Savannah, Georgia, the most haunted city in the United States._

Hands down one of my favorite series ever. So far there are 14 books and the first is free on Amazon. The books are fairly short so there's no time for the plot to drag, and the main character is likable and surprisingly well done for being a woman written by a male author. These books are definitely creepy too, but not overly so. 

2\. [Ghost Hunter Mystery Series](https://www.goodreads.com/series/44110-ghost-hunter-mystery) by Victoria Laurie 

Oh man, I both love and hate this series. The main characters are idiots but I sat here and read every single book. At the end of the day it's fun, lighter series that tries to be serious sometimes.

3\. [Downside Ghost Series](https://www.goodreads.com/series/46709-downside-ghosts) by Stacia Kane 

_The world is not the way it was. The dead have risen, and the living are under attack. The powerful Church of Real Truth, in charge since the government fell, has sworn to reimburse citizens being harassed by the deceased. Enter Chess Putnam, a fully tattooed witch and freewheeling ghost hunter._

Unfinished series but still amazing. It's not quite a typical ghost hunter story - Chess is a drug-addicted disaster human who has to keep her real self hidden from the Church she works for while investigating potential hauntings. I'm okay with where the last book ended (no big cliffhangers or anything) so I highly recommend. 

4\. [Krewe of Hunters](https://www.goodreads.com/series/57401-krewe-of-hunters) Series by Heather Graham

5\. [Spirit Chasers Series](https://www.goodreads.com/series/197280-spirit-chasers) by Kat Mayor

_Austin Cole has it made. Star of the hit television show Spirit Chaser Investigations, he has become the world’s most famous paranormal investigator. Although hard work, a talented investigation team, and favorable genetics have something to do with it, it’s his lack of fear and willingness to take risks no one else will that make Spirit Chaser Investigations cable’s number-one show._

Sign me up for books about ghost hunting TV shows! 

6\. [Haunted Home Renovation Series](https://www.goodreads.com/series/51346-haunted-home-renovation-mystery) by Juliet Blackwell

7\. [Southern Ghost Hunter Mysteries Series](https://www.goodreads.com/series/145520-southern-ghost-hunter-mysteries) by Angie Fox

8\. [Southern Ghost Wranglers Series](https://www.goodreads.com/series/249357-southern-ghost-wranglers) by Amy Boyles

9\. [Graveyard Queen Series](https://www.goodreads.com/series/57143-graveyard-queen) by Amanda Stevens

Y'all! I didn't know there were more than three books in this series, I'm so out of the loop! The first three have this cool ethereal quality to them. They're half romantic suspense, half paranormal. 

There are a ton of standalone books in this genre too, like The Haunting of Hill House and Hell House, not to mention ghosts have a tendency to feature in a lot of Urban Fantasy novels. UF books don't always stick to the ghost theme so I'm not including any here, other than Stacia Kane's series. You could try Death Most Definite by Trent Jamieson, that one was pretty good. 

I also probably don't need to mention the endless amount of non-fiction books out there on ghost hunting. My favorite is [Your Neighborhood Gives Me the Creeps: True Tales of an Accidental Ghost Hunter](https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6660370-your-neighborhood-gives-me-the-creeps) by Adam Selzer. Very humorous and interesting. 

Drop your fav ghost books in the comments if you want. My to-read list is already out of control - what's a few more?! 


	14. It isn't an Ineffable Husbands fic if Crowley doesn't call himself a demon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! I told you all I'd be back soon. I was struggling to figure out how to solve Aziraphale's ghost issue, and after watching a ton of trashy ghost shows I think I've finally figured it out. This should mean updates will start coming more regularly again. I'll move the book list/update to the last chapter once the fic is finished. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter! I don't know how the authors who write straight up romance manage keeping these two in character and making it sound like they actually like one another. It's hard! Also, I know 'improprietously' isn't a word but I... don't care 😁

Crowley groaned as he pried one eye open the next morning, glaring at the wind-up clock seated on his bedside table. He mashed his face back into the pillow, where he realized three things in quick succession: 

  1. It was eight in the morning, and he’s never woken up that early in his life. Or at least he tried his damnedest not to.
  2. He didn’t actually own an alarm clock. His phone was his go-to method of waking up, especially now that he was “retired”.
  3. He was alone in bed, arms and legs spread akimbo across the mattress like a starfish. 



The first revelation was now no longer relevant, as the second revelation had him bolting up into a sitting position to stare at the offending piece of outdated machinery mocking him in his very stylishly barren bedroom. That Aziraphale felt comfortable enough to set the unsightly thing out to be used made Crowley have the same ‘cut and run’ feeling he’d gotten the night before when he saw Aziraphale cozied up in his bed. 

Bad clock. 

Ugly clock. 

Rude clock, making him think great big things so bloody early. 

The third revelation was less shocking. Aziraphale seemed like the type who enjoyed morningsenough to get up early. He’d bet before the sun, even. Ew. There were enough videos and photos of sunrise to indulge in if he ever felt like he was missing out (he didn’t), so Crowley couldn't quite see the point of letting precious sleep pass by for it. The sun was not his preferred star. 

His sprawling was perhaps slightly more concerning. The sharing of a bed was not a regular habit for him but he tended to keep to “his” side whenever he indulged in a one-night stand. Those dalliances typically took place at the other party’s home though, as the older Crowley got the more he felt the need to keep strangers out of his private space. It wasn’t as if he were a massive celebrity, but Raphael’s sensational death brought a lot of unwanted attention from the press over the last few years and now more people than was normal knew his face. Crowley never realized just how ill-mannered humans could be until he was snogging someone on his sofa and they felt it a keen time to bring up his dead friend. 

This morning was different because it was _his_ bed, the place where he was allowed to be vulnerable. He could only hope he hadn’t flopped himself all over Aziraphale in the night and made him uncomfortable. The bed-sharing had probably (definitely) (but maybe definitely not?) been a bad idea. 

Glancing at the atrocious clock once more, Crowley saw he’d sat there musing for the better part of a half-hour. Scrubbing a hand across his face, he forced himself up for a necessary trip to the toilet and a shower to wash away the metaphorical dirt from the night before. He wasn’t sure what Aziraphale’s plans were but Crowley’s did not involve much more than watching telly in his sweats. He’d fit in a bit of therapeutic plant-threatening at some point but that was as strenuous as he wanted the day to be. 

A damp towel hanging over the side of the tub indicated Aziraphale had already taken advantage of the bathroom, prompting Crowley to settle on a very chilly temperature for the spray as he came to terms with the fact that Aziraphale had been naked one room away while he slept. 

Snagging his phone on his way out of the bedroom he found a text waiting from Warlock, who reported depositing Adam at home and then offered to bring the car ‘round whenever Crowley said so. He cringed, thinking of his beloved Bentley in some strange car park or worse (and the most likely scenario, knowing the kid), on the street. At any other time he would already be on his way to rescue his beloved, but take-away and TV were all he could deal with at the moment. 

He replied, telling Warlock to get some more sleep and not worry about the car for now. It was an egregious sin on his part, something he would pay for dearly if his worst fears came to fruition. 

Perhaps he was being just a tad dramatic. 

The sound of Aziraphale’s slightly hushed voice had him slowing down, then stopping completely as he reached the end of the hall. His guest was sitting on the sofa, mobile tucked against his ear in one hand, while the other hand held a book aloft as though he were trying to read and talk at the same time. Crowley stayed where he was to listen; he was old enough to admit when he wanted to eavesdrop and this was one of those moments. 

“Yes, Cousin. Yes. _No_ ,” Aziraphale said sharply, his head swinging back and forth a bit on the wild side. “I’ve told you I’m fine. Good Lord, why would I lie?” 

He fell silent for a long moment; Crowley could almost imagine the voice on the other end of the call rising in volume as the silence continued. 

Finally, Aziraphale tried to interject. “Cousin. Cousin, stop. _Gabriel!_ ” An exasperated sigh. “Gabriel, are you quite finished hearing yourself speak today? No, that’s not rude when you won’t allow to me make judgments about the state of my own health!” 

More silence. 

“Yes, I know you’re concerned but I’m over forty years old. And yes, I know you’ve always been there for me, that’s why I’m one of the few in the family who still talks to you, but you need to let me live my life the way I see fit.” 

Whatever Gabriel said at that moment apparently made Aziraphale so frustrated he pulled the phone away from his ear and held it up to empty air, muttering furiously but too low for Crowley to make out. The phone resumed its former place. 

“He’s not a blessed serial killer. How do I know? I’ve asked him and he asked me, so there. What? It's a perfectly normal conversation for two adults to have – you just brought it up! I know who he is, he’s actually rather well known and he’s got his own money so before you insinuate...gods be damned, Gabriel! I’m sitting in his flat right now and it’s much nicer than a cardboard box. I’ve also seen his television program and I suspect you have too but you’re just being obtuse.” 

Crowley thought about letting the scene play out until one of them gave up but he wanted his coffee, so he sauntered over to the sofa and sprawled opposite of Aziraphale, whose answering smile was more than a little grateful. 

“Gabriel, I need to go now. Yes, I’ll consider your words but for today I’m not going anywhere. Good-bye. I said _good-bye_. Oh for heaven’s-” Aziraphale smashed the screen to end the call and threw the phone beneath the coffee table. 

“Family problems?” Crowley mused. 

Aziraphale flushed red with embarrassment. “I hope I didn’t wake you with all that.” He waved a hand toward the phone. “The American cousin I told you about, who gave me the coffee you refer to as swill? Yes, that was him. He’s rather pompous and ridiculous, but he probably saved my life so I try not to be too harsh with him.” 

Crowley felt one eyebrow raise of its own volition. 

“Oh, believe me,” Aziraphale caught his meaning, “That wasn’t harsh. You should hear how everyone else speaks to him.” 

“People like him make me glad to be an orphan,” Crowley groused, then immediately froze. “Uh, fuck, ‘m sorry. Didn’t think before I shot my mouth off.” 

But Aziraphale was already shaking his head. “No need to apologize, my dear. Despite my reaction to your unfortunate recording, I have made peace with the death of my immediate family. I do still mourn my sister sometimes and as cliché as it may be, time really does help the healing process.” He glanced at his watch and gave a little gasp. “Look at the time! You must be starving. I took full advantage of your kitchen; I do hope you don’t mind.” 

“You cooked?” Crowley didn’t think he could be more surprised as he followed Aziraphale into the other room. 

“Goodness no, I have a habit of burning toast. I did find a delightful little bakery nearby and had them deliver.” He pointed at the veritable mountain of pastries littering the island. “It’s amazing what you can have brought to you when you offer absurd amounts of money. Tea?” Aziraphale asked, shaking a kettle Crowley didn’t know he owned in his hand. 

“Coffee,” he squeaked out as once again he was struck dumb by the easy picture Aziraphale made standing so casually in his kitchen, being all…domestic. 

“I will leave that preparation to you then.” Aziraphale cleared his throat somewhat nervously. “I don’t know what obligations you need to meet for the day, but I was hoping to stay here. Normally I wouldn’t hesitate to get out of your way completely but I’m afraid last night was rather taxing. I-" 

“Say no more, angel,” Crowley interrupted swiftly. “The best part of being a retired-ghost-hunter-turned-author is I do what I like. What's say we binge some Golden Girls and demolish the rest of this?” He gestured to their breakfast. 

Aziraphale gave his customary happy wiggle. “I say that sounds like a fine idea. I admit I did miss out on these Golden Girls. I enjoy technology but mostly for books and research. Oh, and now your show of course.” He beamed at Crowley. 

“Go get settled in, yeah? I'll be in once this is done.” 

Crowley's heart stuttered when he came in a few minutes later carrying his mug to find Aziraphale had settled in the middle of the sofa, his feet propped up improprietously on the coffee table and an unfamiliar tartan throw covering his legs. The sofa was spacious but with Aziraphale making himself at home smack dab on the center cushions, it would be obvious and awkward if Crowley sat anywhere else but next to him. His plan for keeping distance between them was rapidly deteriorating. 

Aziraphale lifted up a corner of the blanket, a silent invitation for Crowley to slide beneath it, and Crowley found he couldn’t resist. Bit of a role reversal that, being the _tempted_ rather than the _tempter_. 

“You said you’ve never seen this?” Crowley cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way his thigh was pressed against Aziraphale’s. 

Aziraphale nodded. “I’ve only just begun delving into popular culture. It wasn’t exactly encouraged growing up, considering most of it was labeled sinful by my parents.” 

Crowley used his phone to select the correct app and begin the show. “Gotcha. Just ignore the housekeeper in the first episode – I don’t know where they were going with his character but he doesn’t stick around.” 

* * *

Aziraphale liked Coco the housekeeper, leading to a spirited debate over his existence in between episodes. 

“Crowley, really! This came out in the 80s, yes? An out man on television would have been wonderful representation on a weekly basis.” 

“Ack, not when they play him as the butt of a joke or a stereotype, angel.” 

“We don’t know those were their plans.” 

“Look, the show is supposed to be about four old ladies – they don’t need a man around all the time!” 

“If I’m not mistaken, these women are barely older than you and I. Old, are they?” 

Round and round they went until Crowley began the second episode and gave Aziraphale the silent treatment until he was forced to start watching again. It only took about an hour for him to get fidgety. 

“It’s not the show, dear boy, I’m just not used to this much television. Would you mind if I read for a bit?” 

“Nah.” Crowley hit pause. “Got to go take care of my plants anyway and that always lasts a while. You do what you like.” 

“Oh, your plants! I completely forgot. Lead the way, I want to see these creations you knocked down walls for.” 

Crowley preened mightily over Aziraphale’s praise of his indoor garden - ‘a veritable Eden!’, though he did scoff when Crowley told him his secret to lush vegetation was a stern lecturing to each plant at least once a week, with some harsher threats sprinkled in as needed when dreaded _spots_ began to appear. It was too difficult to grow flowers with any consistency in this type of environment but he was rather proud of his verdant fern and succulent jungle. 

A strangled cough came from over his shoulder as he fussed with a snake plant. “Crowley? Why do you have church paraphernalia in your home?” 

“Wha-?” Crowley asked in bewilderment. Aziraphale was pointing at his lectern, the one he’d bought at auction. “’s art. Helps me meditate for some reason.” 

Aziraphale's eyes were wild, a multitude of emotions playing across his face as Crowley spoke. “So you don’t know where this, ah, came from?” 

The more Aziraphale talked, the more Crowley began to suspect he was trying not to laugh. “No,” He drawled. “But I take it you know?” 

“I’m rather afraid I do,” Aziraphale let loose a small snicker. “This lovely piece was retrieved from the grounds of The Chattering Order of St. Beryl.

“And?” 

“They were a small order, quite unknown until World War II. The place was bombed around 1941, which I suspect is why pieces of the building were sold off later. They were,” Aziraphale paused dramatically. “Satanic nuns.” 

Whatever he thought Aziraphale might say about the lectern’s history, Crowley never would have guessed that and gaped appropriately at his beloved “art”. 

Aziraphale restrained his amusement long enough to walk over and pat Crowley gingerly on the arm. “It is rather stately, unlike that angel and demon _wrestling_ in the corner over there. You’ve got quite a theme going on.” With another pat to the arm, he made his way back to the living area. 

After much growling and not a whole lot of productive plant care, Crowley sulked his way to the sofa and threw himself down with far more emotion than strictly necessary. His great big thump had Aziraphale looking away from his book. “Something wrong, my dear?” 

“No,” Crowley muttered. 

Aziraphale half closed his book and drew his spectacles from his nose, all his attention focused on Crowley. “Somehow I don’t believe you. Did I overstep earlier?” He didn’t elaborate but both knew he didn’t need to. 

“No,” Crowley said again. Aziraphale studied him for a long moment, then moved one of the only two decorative pillows Crowley owned from behind his back and sat it on his lap. He patted the pillow. “Come then, you sound like you could use a lie-down. Put your show back on and rest your head here.” 

Crowley gave him an incredulous look but quickly realized Aziraphale was completely serious. The sincerity in his eyes as he patted the pillow again was too endearing for Crowley to resist. Sucker he might be, but he was feeling mopey and tired and in no mood to deny himself a small bit of comfort. 

Not bothering to turn the television on, he scooted closer to Aziraphale and dropped his head down to the pillow with a sigh. 

“S’pose it’s professional pride.” 

“What is, dearest?” 

“The lectern. I spent a lotta time warding this place so nothin’ from a job can follow me home and what do I do? Bring home a demonic piece of junk.” 

“So that’s what’s got you upset? You shouldn't beat yourself up about it." Aziraphale dragged his blanket off the back of the sofa and draped it over Crowley, then settled one of his large hands in Crowley’s hair, stroking delicately. "You saw something you liked and purchased it; millions of people around the world do the very same thing on a daily basis.” 

“Yeah I know. I’m being ridiculous.” 

“Would it make you feel any better if I said the nuns of the St. Beryl’s did quite a lot of talking but not much actual worshipping of Satan?” 

“Mmmmmaybe.” 

“Would you like to know how they were found out? It’s a rather humorous story actually. One of the women, a Sister Mary Loquacious, was keen to advance her position within the order. She felt that, despite all the talking, no one appreciated her ideas. She brought it upon herself to kidnap a baby birthed in the nearby hospital and tried to tell her Sisters it was the Anti-Christ.” 

“No!” 

“Oh yes.” 

“What happened?” 

“Well, Sister Mary was not as sneaky as she believed herself to be, and several people saw her leaving with the purloined child. It was not difficult for the authorities to find their way to the church to rescue the baby.” 

“Was it okay?” 

“He was fine. She appeared to be quite enchanted with his little ‘toesy-wosies” and only expressed an interest in raising the child to be worshipped, not harmed. I don’t know if she _meant_ it but it made for a lovely defense during her trial and she was sent away to a mental health facility,” Aziraphale thought for a moment. “Last I remember reading, she was released after ten years and lived in relative obscurity until she opened an indoor sports arena. An eccentric woman, no doubt.” 

Crowley attempted to smother his laughter in the pillow beneath his head and failed. “You’re making this up!” 

“I most certainly am not! You can find it on The Google.” He ruffled Crowley’s hair as their laughter subsided. “Now, doesn’t that make you feel a bit better about your artwork?” 

“S’pose so, angel.” 

“Good.” 

It was a long while before they spoke again. “Hey, angel?” 

“Yes?” 

“I think tonight I’ll take the sofa when we go to bed. You look like you’re feeling better.” 

Aziraphale set his book aside and looked down at Crowley, considering his words carefully. “If it makes you comfortable to do so then I won't object, but I don’t want you to feel as though you must to protect my imaginary honor.” His tone was wry but his face remained serious. 

Crowley couldn’t bring himself to look away. “I just don’t wanna go too fast for you.” 

Aziraphale’s face softened and reached out to squeeze one of Crowley’s hands where it lay against his chest. 

“Do you remember me saying Gabriel probably saved my life? I suppose it may be a bit of an exaggeration in the grand scheme of things, but at the time it felt like being saved.” He took a breath to steady himself. “I didn’t stop training to be a priest after my parents died. You’d think I would have immediately, as they were the only reason I began my studies in the first place, but I couldn’t. I very much didn’t _want_ to care what they thought of me but I did, and it felt like a great betrayal to quit a path I thought they would have eventually felt proud of me for. I kept at it for six months after they were gone.” 

“And Gabriel?” Crowley asked. 

“Well, this was twenty years ago you see, so he was much less arrogant and silly back then. We were friends of a sort even if we didn’t see each other often, so when we spoke I guess he could tell how unhappy I was. One day he showed up on my doorstep with a bunch of papers, yelling at me to stop fretting and start living for myself. “ 

“Somehow, he’d gotten a copy of the family will and found my parents never wrote me out of it. The only stipulation for accessing all of my inheritance was to own a business.” He noted Crowley’s surprise. “Yes, it is an odd barrier to include in a will but one that has been attached to every inheritance passed down through my father’s side for centuries. Obviously, the money didn’t start at the sum it is now, so at one time owning a business would have deterred laziness and ensured the comfort of the family. It was the one time I was thankful my family hung on to useless traditions. 

The next thing I knew, Gabriel found the bookshop for me to purchase and even secured the loan. I truly did give it a real go at running the place in that first year. I think I was still trying to make my parents proud. I had to admit to myself that I don’t care for finances or taxes, and I very much preferred not having to allow such precious texts go off with customers who couldn’t appreciate them.” 

“Why keep up the charade? Sell the shop, buy a mansion, and make your own Library of Alexandria?” Crowley found it impossible to keep his curiosity at bay now. 

Aziraphale’s eyes went shiny with happiness over that imagined future but it passed quick as a flash. “That’s the dream, and I do intend to make it come true, but the shop...it helps me. If I appear to have a career then people tend to not get suspicious about the amount of money I have. “Wealthy with a business” is quite different from “independently wealthy”. Brings out very different types of people, you see. 

And with the shop I get to do something productive every day: I’m not just some old hermit shut up in his library. I get to think of new ways to scare the customers away, and I do actually still have to deal with the finances of the place even though I’m much more lax about the whole thing. On occasion, if the right person comes along, I will sell a book or two and I make a new acquaintance. It keeps me connected to a world where someone like me tends to fade away.” 

Crowley opened his mouth to object but Aziraphale held up a hand. 

“So, to prove I have a point to this story I will say your caution is much appreciated and I will not test your boundaries in any way while I’m here, but I am utterly and completely over going _slowly_. I think in any other scenario you would be the one going too fast for me, but the last few days have made me realize the sporadic dates and few ‘almost’ relationships I’ve had were just pathetic attempts at living the life I thought I needed to live. Between thinking of what my parents wanted and trying to make the shop successful, I sorely neglected my own desires. I want to connect with the world, with people, as more than just the owner of a bookshop. 

I know we’ve discussed this but I very much enjoy your company, Crowley. You are, without a doubt, the most sinfully attractive human I’ve ever laid eyes on and if I ever get the chance to kiss you again I would be truly lucky indeed. Even under spiritual influence, kissing you was the first time in my entire life I've ever felt that 'spark' I've heard so much about. "

“I feel like we’re in a bodice-ripping romance novel.” Aziraphale’s eyes widened but Crowley was grinning at him, taking all the sting from his words. “Never had anybody tell me we could be scandalous and sleep in the same bed, to hell with society.” 

Aziraphale pulled a truly spectacular pout. “Don’t tease, Crowley. You needn’t mock-” 

“Nope, nuh-uh. Not mocking, angel. I appreciate what you’re saying, I really do, so I guess what I’m saying is I need to keep some space between us for myself.” Crowley felt dazed by that revelation; it wasn’t one he thought he’d ever have. He was all about pushing people away emotionally, not physically. He was in uncharted territory now. "We've already acknowledged I'm not...good with long-term stuff. This is an unknown for me."

Aziraphale smoothed down a wayward lock of Crowley’s hair, amusement twisting his lips. “Darling, you’d be much more convincing if you weren’t currently sitting in my lap.” 

“Okay, point taken. But still no bed sharing. Just a few more days ‘till we make Anathema solve all our problems and then we can go hell for leather.” 

“Say no more then, dearest. I suppose I should be grateful chivalry isn’t dead after all.” 

“Ngk,” said Crowley. “’m not that self-sacrificing. A real demon, me.” 

Aziraphale snorted. “Ah, indeed. The demon to my angel then, hmm? Though I will say with all sincerity that if you find you don’t want to be alone on this hard, cold, _forlorn_ sofa then you’re more than welcome to join me at any time.” 

“Layin’ it on a bit thick there but I’ll keep it in mind.” Crowley reached for his phone and turned the television on once more, while Aziraphale went back to reading his book. 

Hours later, after both had said goodnight, Crowley found himself stomping into his room and throwing back the covers on his side of the bed, burrowing under the covers next to Aziraphale. 

“Don’t look at me, angel. ‘m just here to prove I’m not nice. This is me takin’ advantage and bein’ a scoundrel. A cad. A reprobate. ” 

“Ah, an excellent display of your vocabulary, my dear. Remind me to tempt you to a game of Scrabble one of these days. Be a darling and turn off your light, won’t you?” 


End file.
